iij.iji  ii^X. 


■rijijiiMiiiiiMii 


HEl^DEI^iptA0AR> 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


"OUT  OF  PRINT  BOOKS' 

D'Malley's  Bdok  Store 

377     FmiESTUI     A\/cri^iii<^ 


,.nf 


The  Modern  Hagar, 


a  movei. 


CHARLES  M.  CLAY, 

AUTHOR    OF     *BABT    RUE." 


"  Contempt  is  murder  committed  by  the  intellect,  as  hatred  is  murder  com- 
mitted by  the  heart.  Charity,  having  life  in  itself,  is  the  opposite  and  destroyer 
of  contempt  as  well  as  hatred."— George  Macdonald. 


IReviscO  :£Mtion. 


TWO   VOLUMES   IX    OXE. 


NEW  YOKE: 
PUBLISHED  BY  THE  AUTHOK, 

FROM  THE   OFFICE  OF 

Fords,  Howard,  &  Hulbert, 

1883. 


Copyright,  1881, 
BY  Roberts  Brothers. 

revised  edition, 
Copyright,  1883,  by  Charles  M.  Clay. 


DeC^icate^ 


TO 

DR.  T.  G.  RICHARDSON, 

NEW   ORLEANS,    LA., 

AND 

TO  THE   MEMORY  OF 

THE  LATE  DR.  DEMARQUAY, 

PARIS,    FRANCE. 


535304 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2009  witii  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://www.archive.org/details/modernhagarnovelOOclay 


BOOK   FIEST. 


FILIA    NULLIUS. 


"  The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes,  and  the  children's  teeth 
are  set  on  edge" 


PART   FIRST.    1850 


CHANGES   AT   BOUIE'S   HILL. 


CHAPTER  I. 


"  The  unseen  Poorer,  whose  ere 
For  ever  doth  accompanr  mankind, 
Hath  looked  on  no  religion  scornfully 
That  man  did  erer  find." 


THREE  years  after  the  "  Battle  of  the  Witchi- 
ta  Peak,"  of  which  this  truthful  historian 
has  told  you  elsewhere,  he  again  finds  some 
of  the  actors  in  the  drama  he  is  about  to  write 
in  the  Indian  Territory.  It  was  Christmas  eve. 
The  day  had  been  one  of  those  warm  days  that 
sometimes  linger  into  December  in  the  Southern 
States..  Although  the  wind  was  changing  from 
point  to  point  in  gusty  swells,  it  had  not  chilled 
the  evening.  November  had  been  unusually 
cold  and  stormy,  and  the  blasts  of  two  "north- 
ers" had  stripped  the  foliage  from  bush  and 
tree,  except  where  the  scrub-pines  and  red  cedars 
held  their  dark-green  colors  against  the  hills. 

But  on  this  December  evening  there  was  the 
warmth  of  summer  in  the  soft  twilight,  though 
the  trees  had  lost  the  rippling  melody  that  sings 


8  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

through  the  quiverinpj  leaves  of  summer.  The 
only  sounds  that  disturbed  the  profound  silence 
of  the  woods  were  occasional  jDuffs  of  the  change- 
ful wind;  then  a  quick  rustling  would  sweep  the 
forest  floor,  leaving  a  deeper  stillness  in  the  long 
intervals  between  the  gasping  breaths. 

Over  the  wooded  knolls  and  down  the  ravine- 
through  which  the  footpath  led  from  Fort  Gibson 
to  the  quarters  of  Major  Leszinksky  at  Bouie'  s 
Hill — into  the  stillness  of  the  forest  and  the  twi- 
light, came  a  soldier,  an  Indian,  and  a  nonde- 
script giant  on  crutches,  whose  face  was  seamed 
with  deep  scars. 

The  three  men  halted  at  a  little  rustic  lodge  at 
the  foot  of  Bouie' s  Hill,  just  within  the  orchard- 
gate,  through  which  the  road  wound  upward  to 
the  comfortable  house  of  hewn  logs  that,  with 
its  broad  piazza  and  flanking  additions,  crowned 
the  wide,  flat  summit.  The  Indian  stopped  to 
close  the  gate — while  the  soldier  assisted  his  com- 
panion up  the  steps  which  led  to  the  porch  of  the 
cabin — then  he  entered  the  house  and  brought 
out  a  buffalo-rug,  and  was  soon  lying  at  ease  be- 
tween the  rough  settle  where  the  cripple  was  in- 
stalled and  the  steps  where  the  soldier  was  seat- 
ed.    The  latter  puffed  vigorously  at  his  pipe  for 


CHANGES  AT  BOVIE'S  HILL.  9 

a  few  seconds  to  keep  it  aliglit,  and  then  resumed 
what  was  evidently  an  interrupted  and  discur- 
sive homily : 

''  Somehow  this  is  the  solemnest  Christmas  eve 
ever  I  met  up  with.  Seems  more  like  they  was 
fixin'  up  thar"— pointing  to  the  house  on  the 
hill— "fur  a  funeral  than  fur  a  weddin'.  It's 
jest  four  years  to-night  sence  I  come  h'yar  with 
the  news  of  the  massaker  at  Castalar's,  when  the 
Pawnees  and  the  Ottoes  was  on  the  war-path ; 
an'  they  didn't  spar'  a  human,  in  nary  place 
they  struck  over  on  the  Kiameshi,  except  the 
little  Cap'n." 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  glanced  at  the  In- 
dian;  then,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  began 
in  a  lower  tone,  as  though  that  were  sufficient 
concession  and  apology  for  words  which  might 
not  be  altogether  agreeable  to  one  of  his  hearers. 

''There's  been  a  power  o'  changes  since  that 
time  the  Big  Chief"— with  an  amicable  nod  to 
the  Indian— "  found  the  child  and  saved  her 
from  the  tomahawks  of  his  people.  That  trip  to 
the  Witchita  hills,  when  we  was  a-foUering  his 
trail,  a-ready  to  kill  him  like  a  wolf  or  a  rattler, 
not  a-knowin'  he  was  more  the  little  Cap'n 's 
CR-ptyve  than  she  was  his'n,  got  me  the  manner- 


10  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

poJcer  and  Cap'n  Carson  a  wife.  He  was  on'y  a 
lef tenant  that  time  when  he  was  a  sarchin'  fur 
Mrs.  Leszinksky's  baby  and  found  Coacooche's 
darter.  I'm  free  to  say  he  mought  a-married  a 
white  lady  back  in  the  States  and  a-done  wuss. 
But  howsomdever^  his  gain  has  been,  thar  an't 
nary  doubt  'bout  mine.  It  was  the  stopj^in'  o' 
liquor  fur  me.  That  mornin'  after  we  had  to  get 
up  and  get  out  o'  the  Semenolie  valley  my  narves 
was  a-shakin'  and  I  was  a-wantin'  liquor  wuss 
than  a  starvin'  man  could  vittals.  When  we 
stopped  at  the  Washiter  ford  to  breathe  the 
horses  and  let  Mrs.  Leszinksky  rest  a  little,  'cause 
she  was  weak  and  poo'ly  then,  I  jest  got  bold 
out  o'  desperation,  and  I  went  uj)  to  wliar  the 
doctor  was  a-standin'  by  that  angel  of  a  woman, 
and  I  said  I  must  have  a  drink  or  I  couldn't  go 
another  step.  The  doctor  took  out  a  flask  and 
was  gettin'  a  cup  to  pour  it  in  when'Mrs.  Les- 
zinksky called  me.  So  be  an'  I  should  live  till 
etarnity  ended  I  never  could  forget  how  she 
looked  or  what  she  said.  She  laid  one  o'  them 
little  white  hands  o'  hern  on  my  arm,  and  hand- 
ed me  with  the  other  a  tin  cup  full  o'  coffee  they 
had  brought  from  the  valley  fur  lier.  Her  voice 
was  mos'   gone,  what  with  the  tire  o'  that  long 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  11 

night's  ride  and  the  pain  that  had  commenced 
then  to  kill  her  the  slow  way  it  took  her  at  last. 
But  broke  up,  and  between  catches  fur  breath 
as  she  had  to  speak,  thar  wahn't  never  on  this 
'arth  nor  in  heaven  no  sweeter  music  than  that 
sweet  voice  o'  hern  when  she  said :  '  Take  this 
coffee,  Bob,  and  fight  the  tempter.     You  can  do 
it,  because  you  are  brave  and  true  ;  you  will,  be- 
cause we  who  love  you  best  ask  it.     I  may  not 
live  to  get  home.     If  I  do  I  shall  not  have  long  to 
stay  with  you  all,  and  I  want  you  to  make  me  a 
promise.'     Jes'  then  I  broke  the  grip  o'  liquor. 
I  knowed  I  would,  the  first  word  she  said— I 
knowed  what  she  meant  when  them  bright  blue 
eyes  o'  hern,  that  shined  like  the  cl'arest,  bright- 
est sky,  looked  at  me  as  she  give  me  the  coffee. 
From  that  day  to  this  I  thank  God  I  didn't  make 
her  wait  or  let  her  say  what  the  promise  was  she 
wanted  me  to  make.     I  took  the  cup  from  her, 
and  before  I  tasted  a  drop  thar  was  in  it  I  jest 
went  down  on  my  knees  by  whar  she  was,  and 
swore  to  God  and  her  that  while  thar  was  a  Les- 
zinksky  on   'arth   that   keered    fur  me  to  quit 
liquor  I'd  quit.     You  see  the  on'y  kind  o'  reso- 
lution ever  I  kept  was  one  that  had  some  end  to 
it  s^QG-i-fied.     It's  the  on'y  kind  I  could  keep. 


12  THE  MODERN  11  AGAR, 

You  see  when  I  used  to  swar  off  for  ever,  that 
was  a  sort  o'  blind  time  ;  and  by  not  right  ways 
a-knowin'  just  when  'twould  end  I  allays  bust- 
ed it.  All  that  day  thar  was  a  powerful  strain 
on  me — and  me  needed  to  go  on  to  the  regi- 
ment ;  but  Leftenant  Carson  had  to  go  and  bring 
a  ambulance  and  a  escort.  You  know  we  was 
afeard  o'  trouble  with  the  Semenolies,  whose  vil- 
lage had  been  raided  by  some  murderin'  rascals 
on  our  side  ;  and  we  was  more  afeard  that  the 
volunteers  they  belonged  to  wouldn't  disband 
without  fightin'  the  Pawnees  we  had  just  made 
peace  with,  and  who  had  brung  us  safe  from  the 
Semenolie  valley. 

''It  was  a  mighty  ticklish  bizness  all  round; 
and  wust  of  all  fur  me  was  the  devil's  tattoo 
that  was  a-beatin'  in  every  narve  and  a-settin' 
me  wild  fur  a  drink. 

"  Then  the  Big  Chief  did  me  another 
thankee-job.  In  spite  o'  all  the  rumpus  thar, 
with  the  devil  broke  loose  in  the  woods  be- 
twixt the  Creek  nigger-catchers  and  the  vol- 
unteers on  our  side,  and  the  Semenolies  on 
t'other,  he  sent  one  o'  his  warriors  to  Coacoo- 
che's  village  on  the  Canadian,  and  got  me  a 
tickler  full  o'  that  bitter  black  drink  like    the 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  13 

Comancliee  squaw  give  me  over  thar  when  I 
had  that  fit  in  the  mountains.  It  busted  the 
manner-poker,  which  was  a-chasin'  me,  then 
and  thar.  Why,  jest  as  soon  as  I  drinked  it 
I  dropped  in  the  bushes  and  slept  till  next 
mornin' .  When  the  lef tenant  got  back  with  the 
ambulance  and  a  escort  from  our  regiment, 
Mrs.  Leszinksky  made  me  get  in  it  with  her 
and  the  little  Cap'  n ;  and  somehow  I  dropped 
off  asleep  agin,  and  never  waked  till  we  got  to 
the  camjD  at  Little  River.  Then  the  next  day 
I  hearn  you  was  a  prisoner  with  the  Coman- 
chees." 

Here  the  talker  paused  to  relight  his  pipe, 
and  nodded  at  the  cripple,  who  moved  un- 
easily, and  then,  as  if  compelled  to  iill  the 
listening  silence  of  the  evening,  said  : 

"It  wahn't  long  afore  you  come  fur  me.  I 
knowed  I  wouldn't  be  a  jprisoner  long  if  you 
all  could  holp  me — though  I  hadn't  count- 
ed on  the  Big  Chief  thar,  and  I  didn't  know 
how  the  reg'ment  had  made  out  thar  in  that 
scrimmage  at  the  ford.  Arter  I  flanked  the 
Comanchees  in  the  timber  along  the  divide, 
betwixt  Wild  Horse  and  Rush  Creeks,  I  know- 
ed   whar    the    reg'ment    mought    get    through 


14  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

safe,  so  be  and  tlie  reinforce??^^?^^^  stopped 
on  this  high  bluff  o'  the  AVasliiter,  and  shell- 
ed the  woods  'across  thar  to  the  right,  and 
cl'ared  the  underbrush.  Tliat  was  what  I  told 
Colonel  Kearny  when  I  got  to  whar  he  was 
camj)ed,  and  that  was  what  he  sent  me  back 
to  tell  our  Zoo  tenant.  But  the  Comanchees 
got  me  in  the  little  trail  through  the  holler, 
whar  I  had  gone  through  a-goin.  It  sarved 
me  right  fur  not  a-havin'  mo'  sense.  To  trust 
to  the  Comanchees  not  a-strikin'  my  tracks — 
as  if  Injuns  wahn't  all  eyes  and  ears  on  the 
war-path !  The  most  mort-i/'^-in'  thing  was, 
they  jest  counted  on  my  a-bein'  a  bawn  fool, 
and  I  didn't  noways  disap2?'/;i^  'em.  They 
cotched  me  like  Abraham's  ram,  a-stuck  in  the 
mesquite  bushes  and  the  prickly  j)'ars,  ready 
fur  the  sacri^ce.  Twice  that  day  I  thought 
my  time  had  come.  They  tied  my  arms  down 
behint  me  with  a  larit^Z,  and  they  had  another 
round  my  throat  that  they  led  me  by  to 
thar  am%57^  in  the  w^oods  near  by  the  ford, 
a-prickin'  me  with  thar  knives  when  I  didn't 
cFar  the  ground  quick  enough  to  suit  thar 
movements.  They  had  tuck  my  blanket ;  but 
my  huntin' -shirt   and    my  brand-new  buckskin 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  15 

breeches  was  all  cut  and  bloody  with  thar 
wasteful  ways — to  say  nothin'  o'  the  distress- 
ful feelin'  o'  my  hide.  WeD,  when  they  got 
over  thar  by  the  Washiter,  and  I  was  stiff 
and  sore  and  wore  out  with  the  long,  quick 
march,  they  loosed  the  lariat,  that  had  cut 
the  skin  o'  my  swelled-up  throat,  and  order- 
ed me  to  hail  our  fellows,  who  I  could  see  up 
thar  on  the  bluff,  just  whar  I  had  been  sent 
to  tell 'em  to  come.  At  first  I  couldn't  speak; 
then  they  gin  me  water.  Arterward  they  saw 
I  wahn't  a-goin'  to  speak,  so  they  drew  the 
lariat  round  my  wrists  sicli  a  way  that  I've 
got  a  pa'r  o'  bracelets  o'  thar  make  yet." 
And  the  cripple  looked  at  a  cicatrized  ring 
around  his  wrists  as  he  continued:  "I  thought 
once  o'  hoUerin'  to  our  Zootenant,  as  was 
then,  that  the  Injuns  had  me,  but  to  shell 
away  into  thar  BuiMcsTi;  then  I  got  afeard 
they  might  come  to  holp  me,  and  not  shell 
the  woods,  which  they  was  a-fixin'  to  do.  So 
I  just  kep'  still  and  they  shelled  the  Injuns 
out,  and  me  along  with  'em,  led  by  the  lari- 
at,  that  gin  me  a  necklace  to  match  my  brace- 
lets." He  loosened  his  collar,  with  a  shake  of 
his  head    to    prove    its    present   freedom,    and 


16  THE  3I0DERN  HAQAR. 

concluded  with :  ' '  Then  I  had  to  keep  still, 
which  you  know,  Starns,  is  most  nateral  to 
me."  And  he  smiled  at  the  soldier.  The 
sarcasm,  if  intended,  was  of  no  avail,  for 
''Starns"  was  ready  and  waiting  to  go  on 
with  his  reminiscences. 

"Well,  you  wahn't  so  still  that  mornin'  the 
Big  Chief  and  me  got  to  the  Comanchee  vil- 
lage in  the  very  nick  o'  time  to  get  you  out'- 
en  thar  roastin' -forks !  We  liearn  you  a-sing- 
in'  afore  we  rounded  the  p'int  at  the  foot 
o'  the  hill.  I  told  the  Big  Chief  somethin' 
oncomman  must  be  up,  becase  I'd  never  hearn 
you  a-goin'  on  that-a-way.  If  you  had  been 
a-whistlin'  'twould  a-been  more  nateral ;  but 
somehow  that  hymn  you  w^as  a-rollin'  out 
sounded  like  a  camp-meetin'  in  old  Missoury. 
I  was  clean  took  out  o'  my  reckonin'  when 
we  tamed  the  p'int  and  I  seed  you  tied  up 
to  that  hackberry-tree,  with  a  slow  lire  a -curl- 
in'  into  little  red  tongues  round  your  legs. 
'Twas  mighty  well  them  red  devils  had  fixed 
you  to  roast  slow,  and  left  your  leggins  and 
moccasins  on  while  they  amused  tharselves 
a-shootin'  burnin'  arrers  all  round,  a-slicin' 
your  face  into  the  tree.     And   if    they   hadn't 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  17 

a-spared  your  eyes,  a-hopin'  to  see  you  flinch 
from  thar  arrers,  you  would  a-had  no  eyes 
worth  speakin'  on,  time  we  got  you  loose. 
As  'twas,  what  gives  my  liver  a  rise  now 
every  time  I  think  on  it  is,  they  shrivelled 
the  sinews  o'  the  bravest  trailer  that  ever 
walked  in  thar  cursed  country.  But  if  it 
hadn't  a-been  fur  the  fix  we  found  you  in 
'twould  a-been  worth  Avhile  a-goin'  fur  you, 
to  see  what  splendid  fightin'  a  real  warrior 
kin  do  when  his  blood's  at  the  bilin'-p'int." 

And  the  soldier  looked  admiringly  at  the  In- 
dian, whose  eyes  seemed  to  reflect  the  lurid 
light  of  battle  as  this  vision  of  the  past  was 
uncovered  in  the  present. 

After  a  short  pause  to  knock  the  ashes  from 
his  pipe,  and  adjust  a  quid  of  tobacco  to  a  spot 
in  his  cheek  where  it  would  not  interfere  with 
speech,  the  soldier  continued : 

''  I  disremember  what  'twas  I  said — most  like 
thar  was  some  tall  swarin'  in  it,  for  the  leftenant, 
as  was  then,  hadn't  broke  me  in  to  quit,  which 
I've  done  to  x^lease  him,  leastwise  excep'  the 
'casion  is  ]30werful  provokin'.  But  that's  nu til- 
er here  nor  thar ;  what  I  was  a-goin'  to  say 
was  this  :  The  Big  Chief  knowed  it  was  you  we 


18  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

had  come  fur.  Now,  he  had  promised  Major 
Leszinksky — lef tenant  he  was  then — that  he'd 
ransom  you  or  take  you  from  them  crawlin' 
snakes.  An^  he  did  it.  The  rest  on  us  didn't 
count  fur  much,  though  we  done  our  best,  too — 
but  what  a  devil  of  a  fightin'  race  we  had  arter 
we  got  you  !  " 

The  crippled  giant  looked  ujd  at  the  rosy  sky 
as  he  said : 

''  It  was  the  Lord  did  it.  I  don't  mean  no  way 
to  belittle  none  o'  you  nor  what  you  done  fur 
me  ;  but  the  odds  agin  you  was  past  the  power 
o'  man  to  overcome,  if  the  Lord  hadn't  a-made 
bar'  his  arm." 

There  was  a  moment  of  stillness,  then  a  few- 
bars  of  a  sacred  melody  rose  through  the  soft 
air  of  that  December  twilight. 

^' Yes,"  said  the  soldier  softly,  as  the  voice  of 
the  cripple  faltered  and  the  sound  was  hushed, 
'^ that's  it;  that's  the  hymn  the  Big  Chief 
thought  was  the  death-song  of  a  warrior : 

"  '  When  through  fierr  trials.'" 

The  cripple  turneS  to  his  auditors  a  scarred 
and  mutilatpd  face,  but  the  eyes  were  full  of 
love  and  faith  as  he  spoke : 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  19 

^*It's  the  life-song,  and,  if  so  be,  the  death- 
song,  o'  any  o'  God's  creeters  as  clings  to  him 
and  trusts  him  to  help  'em." 

The  soldier  cleared  his  throat:  "I  don't  go 
much  on  preachers,  or  long  norations  'bout  re- 
ligion. And  I  can't  come  to  believe  thar's  any 
wuss  hell  'an  that  a  man  totes  inside  of  him 
when  he's  been  brung  up  short  and  made  to  take. 
' count  of  his  own  meannesses  ;  or  when  he's  got 
the  manner -polter^  and  sees  what  he  knows  an't^ 
and  feels  the  grip  o'  the  devil  that  swims  in 
every  drap  o'  liquor.  But  I  do  think.  Pike,  you 
and  our  old  leftenant.  Major  Leszinksky,  has  got 
the  humanest  feelin'  for  other  folks,  and  the  best 
friendshij)  for  God  A' mighty,  of  any  men  ever  I 
met  up  with.  But  you  an' t  no  better  in  your 
way  than  the  Big  Chief  is  in  his'  n ;  and  you 
don't  stick  no  closer  to  the  textes  you  find  in 
your  Bible  than  he  does  to  what  the  Great  Spi- 
rit tells  Mm.  Now,  I  don't  believe  heaven's  a 
narrer  SQttlement  fenced  in  by  burnin'  brim- 
stone. But  I  do  believe  Mrs.  Leszinksky' s  thar  ; 
and  when  I  know  how  she  pitied  me — an'  me  a 
wuthless  drunkard — I  know  God  an't  a-goin'  to 
turn  agin  me  just  when  I'm  at  the  last  pinch 
a-tryin'  to  find  a  cl'ar  path  with  the  blindfold  of 


20  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

death  on  me.  I  an't  a-sayin'  notliin'  agin  your 
religion;  you're  a  Baptist,  and  water's  cleanin', 
but  it  don't  alius  wash  the  meanness  out' en  a 
man.  The  thing  was,  you  hadn'  t  waited  fur  that 
dip  to  do  right  by  white,  and  black,  and  red.  It 
an't  what  a  man  calls  hisself  but  what  he  does 
that  shows  the  grain  in  him.  And  thar's  a  heap 
o'  doirC  that  God  an't  a-goin'  to  count  agin  a 
man. 

''  Sometimes  it's  thar  lights  as  is  deceivin'  'em, 
like  the  Big  Chief  when  he's  a-takin'  scalps  or 
layin'  for  a  Comanchee.  Sometimes  it's  thar 
weakness  leads  'em  into  quagmu^es — I  know — 
But  here  comes  Cap'n  Rue." 

He  sprang  down  the  steps  and  then  stiffened 
into  a  rigid  military  salute  as  a  wee  maiden  came 
flying  down  the  path  under  the  leafless  trees, 
shouting  : 

''Bob!  Bob!  Tell  Pike— tell  my  chief- 
papa's  coming.  He  is  over  there  on  the  hill. 
I  saw  him  through  the  spy-glass.  O  Pike !  O 
my  chief  !  papa's  coming,  papa's  coming  !  " 


CHAPTER  II. 


A  man  might  then  behold 
At  Christmas,  in  each  hall, 

Good  fires  to  em-b  the  cold, 
And  meat  for  great  and  small." 


EAELY  in  the  afternoon  of  that  same  Christ- 
mas eve  a  lady,  a  servant,  and  the  wee 
maiden  who  in  our  last  chapter  interrupt- 
ed the  soldier's  discourse  were  busy  decorators 
of  the  dining-room  and  wide-spread,  hospitable 
table  at  "Bouie's  Hill."  There  were  rapturous 
but  disconnected  ejaculations  of  praise  and  de- 
light from  child  and  servant,  as  Miss  Carson, 
with  the  steadiness  of  a  firm,  unhesitating  char- 
acter, tried  effects  and  produced  results  that,  ac- 
cording to  her  own  judgment  and  the  present 
lights  of  her  admiring  assistants,  could  not  have 
been  bettered.  Those  assistants  were  two.  The 
first  was  a  tall,  stately  mulatto  woman,  whose 
kindly  face  and  large  brown  eyes  were  brought 
into  full  and  effective  relief  by  the  bordering  of 
silver  hair  that  rippled  in  thick,  soft  waves  be- 


22  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

neath  the  gay  Madras  liandkerchief  wound  above 
and  around  the  erect  and  well-poised  head.  The 
smaller  personage  was  the  witching  little  despot 
known  to  us,  some  four  years  earlier  than  the 
date  of  this  history,  as  ^'Baby  Rue,"  now  a 
slender,  pale  little  maiden,  whose  tawny  pallor 
was  lit  by  scarlet  lips  and  the  flashing,  change- 
ful lustre  of  gray  eyes  that  might  have  caught 
their  color  from  the  gleam  of  a  Damascus  blade. 
There  was  a  wild,  untrained  grace  in  the  child' s 
every  movement — a  grace  that  comes  of  the  per- 
fect sympathy  of  body  and  soul,  where  action  is 
the  twin  of  thought.  Every  word  that  came 
through  the  mobile  lips  was  foreshadowed  in  the 
expressive  face  and  in  the  changing  light  of  the 
beautiful  eyes  ;  and  to  every  word  a  gesture  was 
fitted. 

There  was  little  to  hear  in  the  dining-room — 
nothing  to  inform  the  reader  either  of  present 
or  past.  Rue  varied  her  exclamations  with  sud- 
den dashes  into  the  sitting-room  to  tell  the  gen- 
tlemen there  of  some  new  wonder  ;  with  swift 
rushes  to  the  front  piazza,  where  the  spy-glass 
was  poised  to  command  an  extended  view  of  the 
road  on  the  bluff  some  two  miles  distant  from 
Bouie's  Hill;  with  quick  runs  to  the  kitchen, 


CHANGES  AT.  BOUIE'S  HILL.  23 

where,  under  the  supervision  of  Sara's  frequent 
visits,  Mead's  work  as  G7^(?/' steadily  progressed. 

That  I  may  conscientiously  pick  up  and  wind 
into  the  woof  of  this  truthful,  painstaking  narra- 
tive a  few  threads  that  tie  us  to  the  past  of  the 
characters  I  am  about  to  introduce,  I  shall  jot 
down  some  broken  bits  of  talk  that  Rue  might 
have  heard,  had  that  brilliant  butterfly  rested 
alight  a  moment  from  her  swift  flights  on  that 
particular  24th  of  December,  in  the  kitchen  at 
Bouie's  Hill,  where  a  patriarchal  negro  iterates 
his  complaints  and  comments  : 

"  An't  yo'  dun  fix  de  dinin'-room  yet,  Sara  ?" 

^'Yes,  Daddy,  everything's  ready  now;  on^y 
Miss  Mary  Carson  she's  so  partic'lar  'bout  fixin' 
them  posies  roun'  de  plates." 

''AYell,  yo'  better  leave  her  'lone,  an'  stay 
heah  an'  see  how  Mead's  a-doin'  de  roasts.  I 
can't  sot  my  mind  to  watchin'  him,  nohow.  I'se 
in  a  daze  wid  all  dese  go-downs  in  de  fam'ly.  I 
didn't  'spec  to  stay  heah  long  'nough  to  see  sich 
gwine'ns  on.  May-be  it's  de  Lord's  work,  but 
it  'pears  to  me  mighty  like  de  debble  had  a  fin- 
ger in  de  pie.  I  an't  had  no  peaceable  'ligious 
'sperience  sinct  dat  time  dey  all  got  back  heah 
arter  little  Miss  Eue  was  stoleded  an'  carried  to 


24  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

de  Injun  country.  Dat  was  de  fust  of  de  settlin 
of  de  sabages  on  dis  place.  I  knowed  dar 
wahn't  no  good  gwine  to  come  on  it  when  Miss 
Marg'ret  liad  dat  cabin  built  yonder  t'other  side 
de  big  house  fur  dat  Injun  chief,  case  he  spared 
Miss  Rue  out' en  dat  slaughter  and  gin  her  back. 
It  was  jes'  a-iiyin'  in  de  face  of  Vvo\\dence. 
An'  yo'  see,  Sara,  what  a  back-sat  we'  se  all  got. 
De  fust  thing  dat  happened  arter  Marse  Carson 
marry  dat  young  Injun  woman  showed  it. 
Heah  was  Marse  Stan  an'  Miss  Marg'ret  an'  de 
baby  sent  t'  Mexiker,  an'  yo'  an'  Oscar  gone  wid 
'em  ;  an'  loe  all  lef  heah  wid  nobody  but  Miss 
Mary  Carson  an'  de  Injuns.  Not  as  I  kin  say  de 
Big  Chief  stayed  ;  but  dar  was  dat  Wildcat  a-vis- 
itin'  his  darter  heah,  an'  she  a-visitin'  him.  an' 
red  an'  black  Injuns  a-comin'  an'  a-gwine  night 
an'  day.  Dis  an' t  been  no  Christian  ^ettlQment 
sinct  dat  time.  'Twant  no  wonder  de  Lord  tuk 
Miss  Marg'ret  home.  He  knowed  hebbin  was 
better  fur  her  dan  dis  place.  But  now  Marse 
Stan  has  jes'  gone  an'  done  it  fur  sho' .  Lord  I 
Lord  !  I'se  glad  de  Mason  name's  done  lef  in. 
ole  Firginny.  It's  de  Desinksky  imrt  o'  Marse 
Stan  dat's  done  made  dis  heah  las'  match. 
Now,  de  Cart' rets  was  somebody,  an'  Miss  Mar- 


CHANGES  AT  BOVIE'S  HILL.  '2b 

g'ret  was  fit  to  walk  in  my  Miss  Mary's  shoes  ; 
but  dese  Casters — umph  ! — all !  dey  an't  no  mo' 
dan  half -breeds  :  outlandish  folks  mixed  in  wid 
a  Injun  streak.  I  was  a-w^aitin'  my  time  to  go 
to  de  ]N"ew  Jerus'lem,  but  now  Is  shame  to  go 
dar.  How  could  a  -spectable  fam'ly  sarvant, 
dat  was  'bawn  at  Mount  Hope  an'  brung  up  wid 
a  gran'  gen'leman  like  my  marster  was,  face  all 
de  ole  Masons  uj)  dar  au  tell  'em  what  Marse 
Stan's  been  a-doin'  %  Why,  'twould  raise  a 
'stnrbance  in  de  golden  streets.  All  de  bestest 
o'  dem  ole  Firginny  f am' lies  'ill  be  afeard  to 
hurt  de  feelins  o'  de  Masons,  if  dey  ax  me  de 
news  from  down  lieah. 

' '  1  didn'  t  used  to  want  to  outlive  Marse  Stan  ; 
but  if  de  Lord's  willin'  I'd  a  heap  ruther  he'd 
go  fust  nolo  an'  'splain  dis  bizness,  'f  he  can. 

"Mead,  you  better  turn  dat  turkey  in  de 
'liectar.  IS'ot  dat  it  matters  much  'f  'tis  scorch- 
ed ;  dis  an't  no  'casion  to  be  proud  o'  de  Ma- 
son cookin\ 

"Lord  I  Lord  I  when  I  c^(97zsider  de  Masons 
in  de  New  Jerusalem,  an'  'fleets  on  dem  dat's 
buried  in  ole  Firginny,  an*  sees  de  latest  skion 
o'  de  male  side  a-marryin'  a  quarter-bred  French 
Injun,  I  feel  like  a-prayin'  wid  de  profic,  '  Let 


26  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

dy  sarvant  'part  in  peace'  ;  an'  I'd  be  glad, 
'cept  fur  de  rumpus  I'd  have  to  raise  wid  de 
judge's  father,  to  say  nuthin'  ob  de  way  ole 
Gen'ral  Desinksky's  a-gwine  to  swar  'bout  dis 
crossin'  a  thoroughbred  wid  a  scrub  w'en  he 
heahs  'bout  it  up  thar." 

Here  Rue  rushed  in  with  a  fresh  gush  of  en- 
thusiasm over  Miss  Carson's  last  clief-d/ oeuvre 
of  decorative  art,  and  dragged  the  stately  Sara 
from  the  stool  where  she  sat  and  pondered  the 
questions  propounded  by  the  aged  mourner  in 
his  jeremiad  over  the  fallen  glory  of  his  master's 
house. 


CHAPTER  III. 

There  is  sometlimg  in  the  character  and  habits  of  the  North  Ame- 
rican savage,  taken  in  connection  with  the  scenery  over 'which  he  is 
accustomed  to  range,  that  is,  to  my  mind,  wonderfully  striking  and  sub- 
lime. He  is  formed  for  the  wilderness,  as  the  Arab  is  for  the  desert.  His 
nature  is  stern,  simple,  and  enduiing,  fitted  to  grapple  with  difficulties  and 
to  support  privations.  There  seems  but  little  soil  in  his  heart  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  kindly  vii'tues;  and  yet,  if  we  would  but  take  the  trouble  to 
penetrate  through  that  proud  stoicism  and  habitual  taciturnity  which 
lock  up  his  character  from  casual  observation,  we  should  find  him  linked 
to  his  fellow-man  of  civilized  life  by  more  of  those  sympathies  and  affec- 
tions than  are  usually  ascribed  to  him.  It  has  been  the  lot  of  the  unfor- 
tunate aborigines  of  America  to  be  doubly  wronged  by  the  white  man. 
They  have  been  dispossessed  of  their-  hereditary  possessions  by  merce- 
nary and  frequently  wanton  warfare,  and  their  characters  have  been  tra- 
duced by  bigoted  and  interested  writers.  The  colonist  often  treated  them 
like  beasts  of  the  forest,  and  the  author  has  endeavored  to  justify  him  in 
his  outrages.  The  former  found  it  easier  to  exterminate  than  to  civilize  ; 
the  latter  to  vilify  than  to  discriminate.  In  peace  the  Indian  has  been 
the  dupe  of  artful  traffic ;  in  war  he  has  been  regarded  as  a  ferocious  ani- 
mal, whose  life  or  death  was  a  question  of  mere  precaution  and  conve- 
nience.—Tmii:^  o///ic?icoi  Character,  Washixgtox  Irvixg. 

THE  Pawnee  cliief  was  on  Ms  feet  at  the  first 
sound  of  Rue' s  voice  ;  and  as  slie  came  fly- 
ing down  tlie  liill  lie  sprang  liglitly  from 
the  porch  of  the  little  cabin  and  canght  her  in 
his  arms,  she  still  calling  as  they  passed  on  to 
the  gate,  "  Papa's  coming  !  My  chief  !  my  chief ! 
papa's  coming." 

S7 


28  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

The  impatient  little  princess  had  still  a  good 
half -hour  to  wait.  I  leave  her  surrounded  by- 
faithful  subjects,  and  present  to  the  reader  an- 
other group  I  have  left  all  this  time  alone  in  the 
sitting-room  on  the  hill. 

Captain  Carson  had  arrived  during  the  morn- 
ing of  tlie  S^th  from  Xew  Mexico  by  way  of  the 
Witchita  Mountains.  At  Canada  and  El  Em- 
boda,  in  the  fight  of  the  insurgents  with  Burg- 
win's  dragoons  and  the  volunteers  from  Mis- 
souri under  Colonel  Sterling  Price,  he  had  won 
his  grade  as  first  lieutenant.  For  the  action  at 
Pueblo  de  Taos,  where  Burg  win  was  killed,  he 
was  brevetted  captain,  and  was  soon  afterward 
given  a  company  in  consideration  of  his  gallant 
service  at  San  Rosales. 

At  the  time  of  his  marriage  to  the  daughter  of 
the  Seminole  chief,  Mrs.  Leszinksky  had  invited 
Carson's  sister  Mary  to  come  to  Bouie's  Hill 
and  remain  there  with  the  newly-made  wife 
during  the  absence  of  Carson  and  of  the  Les- 
zinksky s. 

In  acknowledgment  of  Leszinksky' s  service  to 
the  government  in  the  pacification  of  the  tribes 
and  the  alliance  formed  with  the  Pawnees  of 
Lo-loch-to-hoo-la's    band,    that    officer    had   his 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  20 

brevet  as  caiDtain  and  was  ordered  to  join  General 
Taylor's  ''  Army  of  Observation,"  tlien  near  San 
Antonio. 

Knowing  what  the  anxiety  of  Mrs.  Leszinksky 
would  be  if  separated  from  her  husband,  to 
whom  she  was  passionately  devoted,  Dr.  Ran- 
dall, who  was  then— as  at  the  time  this  story 
begins— stationed  at  Fort  Gibson,  advised  that 
she  should  go  with  her  husband.  The  one  hope 
left  for  her  health  Avas  change— change  of  climate 
and  scene,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  entire  forget- 
fulness  of  the  harrowing  anguish  through  which 
she  had  passed  at  the  time  of  her  little  daugh- 
ter's capture  in  the  affair  at  Castalar's. 

As  we -have  heard  from  Uncle  Abram,  during 
the  absence  of  the  Leszinkskys  the  Seminole 
chief  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  Bouie's  Hill,  no 
less  from  affection  for  his  daughter  than  to  pro- 
tect the  interests  of  his  allies,  the  Black  Indians. 
Trusting  to  the  justice  of  the  President  (who, 
in  the  third  article  of  the' last  treaty  with  the 
Seminoles,  was  given  final  jurisdiction  '4n  all 
contested  cases  concerning  the  right  of  property 
growing  out  of  sales  or  transactions  previous  to 
the  ratification  of  the  treaty"),  Coacooche^  bad 

*  Coacoochc— Wildcat,  the  Seminole  chief. 


30  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

demanded  of  General  Arbiickle  protection  for 
his  allies,  wlio  were  now  being  claimed  by  tlie 
Creeks  as  the  descendants  of  their  escaped 
slaves. 

Believing,  as  did  every  gentleman  in  the  army, 
that  by  the  treaties  made  with  the  Seminoles  the 
honor  of  the  government  was  pledged  for  the 
freedom  and  security  of  these  negroes,  General 
Arbuckle  directed  tliis  persecuted  people  to  en- 
camp and  remain  npon  the  government  reserva- 
tion near  Fort  Gibson,  assuring  them  that  neither 
the  Creeks  nor  the  human  sleuth-hounds  who 
had  followed  them  from  Georgia  should  molest 
or  enslave  them.  Once  again  in  the  history  of 
Indian  treaties  pledged  faith  was  faithless.  The 
government  ordered  the  Black  Indians  to  return 
to  their  villages,  promised  them  security — and 
then  left  them  to  the  tender  mercy  of  greed  and 
hate.  The  Executive  temporized  and  delayed 
judgment  while  giving  semi-official  countenance 
to  the  order  for  their  return  to  the  Creek  coun- 
try, and  at  last  pennitted,"  if  it  did  not  autho- 
rize, their  capture  by  the  slave-traders. 

In  all  of  the  trials  of  this  long-suffering  tribe 
Coacooche  had  been  their  unfaltering  friend  and 
protector.      He  was  frequently  at  Fort  Gibson, 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  31 

and  more  frequently  in  the  Cherokee  country, 
consulting  with  Chief  Ross,  who  had  never  wa- 
vered in  his  advocacy  of  the  rights  of  the  Semi- 
noles  since  that  disastrous  epoch  when  he  had 
been  the  unwitting  agent  of  the  government  in 
the  deception  practised  upon  them  at  the  time 
of  their  removal  from  Florida. 

As  the  sympathy  of  the  master  of  Bouie's 
Hill  was  known  to  be  warmly  enlisted  in  be- 
half of  this  wronged  people,  the  place  natu- 
rally came  to  be  the  headquarters  of  the  Semi- 
noles  during  the  time  of  the  sojourn  of  their 
allies  upon  the  reservation.  Truly,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Uncle  Abram,  "  thar  was  red  an'  black 
Injuns  all  de  time  a-comin'  and  a-gwine." 

When,  some  months  after  the  birth  of  her  son, 
Carson's  wife,  Alaha-Chayna,  received  his  per- 
mission to  follow  him  to  Mexico,  Coacooche  came 
to  take  leave  of  his  daughter ;  he  had  at  Bouie's 
Hill  a  final  interview  with  General  Arbuckle. 

The  honest  soldier  frankly  told  the  chief  that 
he  had  been  ordered  to  interpose  no  further  ob- 
struction to  the  arrest  of  the  Black  Indians  by 
the  traders  who  had  bought  them  from  the 
Creeks.  The  reply  of  the  Seminole  should  be 
written  in  letters  of  gold  in  the  Iflstory  of  the 


33  THE  3I0DERN  IIAGAR. 

North  American  Indians  :  "  Coacooclie  will  never 
desert  the  brave  warriors  who  fought  by  his  side 
in  Florida  for  the  homes  of  their  tribe  and  the 
graves  of  their  dead.  The  White  Father  at 
AVashington  has  closed  his  ears  to  the  truth 
and  his  eyes  to  the  sight  of  the  oppressed.  He 
has  ordered  the  Seminoles  and  their  allies  to  the 
Creek  country,  that  the  slave-catchers  may  se- 
cure their  victims.  The  traders  in  men,  like 
hungiy  hounds,  have  tracked  the  Seminoles 
from  Florida  to  Arkansas,  and  the  White  Fa- 
ther has  told  his  soldiers  to  give  the  allies  of 
the  Seminoles  to  those  dogs.  Coacooche  has 
turned  his  face  to  the  setting  sun,  that  he  may 
find  safety  for  his  people  and  the  Jbrave  black 
tribe  that  grew  up  beneath  the  shade  of  his  fa- 
ther s  lodge.  He  will  build  his  nest  high  in  the 
mountains  near  the  eyries  of  the  eagles.  Like 
eagles  the  Seminoles  will  defend  their  nests. 
If  the  Creeks  and  the  slave-catchers  follow  the 
trail  of  Coacooche  their  bones  will  whiten  the 
crags." 

All  this  story  of  the  Seminoles  came  into  the 
talk  of  the  two  gentlemen  who  were  waiting  in 
the  little  sitting-room  at  Bouie's  Hill  for  the 
coming  of  their  old   comrade.      Together  they 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  33 

unrolled  tlie  pages  of  the  past  four  years.  Car- 
son' s  account  of  himself  was  so  brief  and  modest 
that  I  have  thought  best  to  sux)X)lement  his  story 
with  tlie  knowledge  I  have  gleaned  elsewhere  of 
his  gallantry  in  the  battle-field  of  ISTew  Mexico. 

Colonel  Beall's  story,  as -he  told  it  to  Carson 
that  soft  December  evening,  was  an  outline  his- 
tory of  the  Mexican  War,  illustrated  by  battle- 
pictures  which  stirred  the  blood  and  set  the 
pulses  throbbing  like  martial  music.  But  some- 
how into  it  all  crept  the  same  sad  tale  of  the 
wronged  Indian.  For  here  and  there  into  these 
battle-pieces  flashed  the  stalwart  figure  of  the 
great  Pawnee  who,  through  love  for  the  child 
he  had  found  in  the  war-path  and  adopted  as 
his  OAvn,  fought  by  Leszinksky's  side  like  a 
brother. 

The  mention  of  Burgwin'  s  gallant  fight,  where 
Carson  was  wounded,  brought  the  talk  again  to 
Coacooche  ;  and  how,  when  Carson  was  nigh 
unto  death,  the  Seminole  chief  found  him  and 
nursed  him  with  the  gentleness  of  a  woman, 
bringing  him,  as  soon  as  he  could  sit  his  horse, 
by  slow  marches  to  the  valley  high  up  the  hills, 
where  the  tonic  water  of  the  boiling-spring  and 
the  pure  air  gave  him  health  and  strength.    Then 


34  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Beall  conquered  the  j^rejudice  of  a  Florida  vete- 
ran and  acknowledged  tlie  wrong-doing  of  the 
white  race  and  the  gallantry  of  his  old  foe. 

There  was  a  long  reflective  panse,  after  which 
Carson  took  from  a  shelf  of  "King  Stan's" 
bookcase  a  well-worn  volume  of  Washington 
Irving  that  had  been  conned  by  camp-fires  in 
the  mlderness,  and  read  this  extract  from 
Philip  of  Polzanoket^  which  might  have  been 
written  of  Coacooche.  Beall  nodded  assent  at 
every  period : 

"He  was  a  patriot  attached  to  his  native  soil; 
a  prince  true  to  his  subjects  and  indignant  of 
their  wrongs ;  a  soldier  daring  in  battle,  firm  in 
adversity,  patient  of  fatigue,  of  hunger,  of  every 
variety  of  bodily  suffering,  and  ready  to  perish 
in  the  cause  he  had  espoused.  Proud  of  heart, 
and  with  an  untamable  love  of  natural  liberty, 
he  preferred  to  enjoy  it  among  the  beasts  of  the 
forest  or  in  the  dismal  recesses  of  swamps  and 
morasses  rather  than  bow  his  haughty  spirit  to 
submission  and  live  dependent  and  despised  in 
the  ease  and  luxury  of  the  settlements.  With 
heroic  qualities  and  bold  achievements  that 
would  have  graced  a  civilized  warrior  and  have 
rendered  him  the  theme  of  the  poet  and  the  his- 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  35 

torian,  lie  lived  a  wanderer  and  a  fugitive  in  Ms 
native  land,  and  went  down  like  a  lonely  bark 
foundering  amid  darkness  and  tempest,  witkout 
a  pitying  eye  to  weep  kis  fall  or  a  friendly  kand 
to  record  kis  struggle." 


CHAPTEH  IV. 


"  The  night  hath  a  thousand  eyes, 
The  day  but  one  ; 
But  the  light  of  the  whole  world  dies 
At  set  of  sun. 

"  The  mind  hath  a  thousand  eyes, 
The  heart  but  one  ; 
Yet  the  life  of  a  whole  life  dies 
When  love  is  done." 


AS  Carson  replaced  tlie  book  the  door  opened 
and  tliere  entered  our  old  acquaintance,  Dr. 
Randall. 
"How  are  you,  Carson?  I  am  glad  to  see 
you.  Your  color  and  size  tell  nie  I  need  not 
ask  liow  is  tlie  wound.  You  do  not  look  much 
like  the  fellow  I  saw  in  the  Witchita  last  sum- 
mer.' ' 

"You  see,"  said  Carson,  as  they  warmly 
clasped  hands,  "the  result  of  good  nursing,  the 
valley  climate,  and  draughts  from,  and  baths  in, 
the  Medicine  Spring  of  the  Witchita." 

"Yes,  it  has  wonderful  tonic  qualities.  You 
may  thank  your  wife,  the  climate,  and  the  spring 

36 


GHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  37 

that  you  lived  to  be  Captain  Carson.  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  well-deserved  promotion. 
Better  late  tlian  never,  but  it  should  have  come 
a  yea.r  ago.     It  was  gallantly  won." 

"It  was  dearly  bought.  Poor  Burgwin's 
death  was  a  greater  loss  to  the  regiment  and 
the  country  than  would  have  been  a  dozen  moss- 
troopers like  me." 

' '  His  death  was  a  grief  to  us  all.  Nothing 
has  so  touched  the  soldierly  feeling  of  the  First 
Dragoons  since  Captain  Moore  was  killed  ;  but 
neither  wiU  the  regiment  forget  how  you  avenged 
Burgwin'  s  death  or  how  stubbornly  you  fought 
to  make  his  victory  sure." 

''Colonel  Price  and  his  volunteers  did  that. 
They  fought  like  regulars.  If  Price  would  stay 
in  the  service  I  think  he  would  prove  that  sol- 
diers are  sometimes  'born,  not  made.'  But  you 
know  all  this." 

"  Did  you  leave  your  wife  in  the  valley  1 " 

"  Yes  ;  since  you. were  there  last  summer  Coa- 
cooche  has  removed  the  remnant  of  the  tribe  of 
Black  Indians  to  Mexico.  Next  spring  he  will 
go  there  with  his  wife  and  family,  and  such  of 
the  Seminoles  as  are  now  with  him.  His  Mexi- 
can home  is  in  the  hills  near  Lareda.     I  fear  he 


38  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

will  be  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  our  general  ou  Vlie 
Rio  Grande." 

"  But  your  wife  and  her  little  children  are  not 
going  to  Mexico  ? " 

'^  JSTo  ;  Alaha-Chayna  will  only  stay  in  the  val- 
ley this  winter.  When  her  father  leaves  for 
Mexico  I  will  bring  my  wife  and  boys  here." 

There  was  greeting  between  Randall  and  Beall, 
questions  of  courtesy  and  friendship  asked  and 
answered,  news  given  of  old  copirades,  talk  of 
old  times  and  the  changes  since  they  had  parted 
four  years  before.  Carson  told  of  having  met 
Hartley  in  Santa  Fe  during  the  past  summer. 
Randall  asked  : 

"  What  was  he  doing  there  ?  Is-  it  possible  he 
served  with  the  volunteers  1  I  know  he  has  isot 
rejoined  the  regular  army." 

The  answer  came  in  an  indignant  negative : 
^^  Catch  him  Avith  either  !  A  cold-blooded  scoun- 
drel like  Hartley  return  to  the  army  as  regular 
or  volunteer!  His  patriotism  would  never  in- 
duce him  to  risk  his  life — ^less  than  ever  now  that 
lie  has  inherited  one  great  fortune  and  is  waiting 
the  handling  of  another." 

*'I  knew  he  had  succeeded  to  the  dollars  of 
that  miserly  old  peltry-monger,  his  uncle,   but 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIWS  HILL.  39 

did  not  know  fortune  intended  to  pelt  Mm  with 
further  favors." 

"  Randall,  that  villainous  attempt  at  a  pun  has 
but  one  excuse — a  villain  inspired  it."   . 

''Keep  it  up!  Mine  was  made  unwittingly, 
yours  in  cold  blood.  But  about  Hartley's  ex- 
pectation \  Since  his  sister  married  Judge  Car- 
tare  t,  for  Rue's  sake  I  am  curious  about  the 
Hartleys.  Judge  Cartaret  was  Mrs.  Leszink- 
sky's  nearest  relative,  besides  being  her  guar- 
dian and  trustee,  and,  if  Stan  should  die,  would 
be  Rue's." 

' '  Well,  you  know  all  that  and  do  not  know 
what  fortune  I  meant  %  Why,  the  great  Carta- 
ret estate,  that  doubled  during  Mrs.  Leszink- 
sky'  s  minority  and  that  will  be  quadrupled  be- 
fore Rue  is  of  age." 

'/Carson,  are  you  slightly  demented?"  said 
the  doctor.  ''By  what  quibble  of  law  do  you 
suppose  Hartley  could  ever  have  the  slightest  in- 
terest in  the  Cartaret  estate  ?" 

"Do  you  not  know  he  has  married  Judge  Car- 
taret's  oldest  daughter  % " 

"No,"  said  the  doctor,  while  Beall  exclaimed : 

"  By  Jove  !  I  believe  the  meaner  a  man  is  the 
more  surely  he  attracts  money." 


40  THE  3I0DERN  HAOAR. 

*'Yes,"  Carson  continued,  "there  is  but  one 
life  between  him  and  Kue's  inheritance.  If  Tom 
Cartaret  dies,  according  to  Colonel  Cartaret's  will 
Judge  Cartaret's  next  oldest  child  is  Rue's  suc- 
cessor." 

"But,  Carson,"  said  the  doctor,  "you  forget 
Hue  herself.  I  do  not  think  the  imperious  little 
princess  will  '  shuffle  off  the  mortal  coil '  to  oblige 
Hartley,  so  there  are  two  lives  between  him  and 
the  '  Cedars ' ;  but  it  is  an  aggravation  to  think 
he  is  even  that  near  Mrs.  Leszinksky's  estate.  I 
hope  young  Cartaret  will  marry  and  have  a  very 
patriarchal  f  amil  y . ' ' 

This  opened  the  flood-gate  of  Beall's  anecdotal 
lore,  and  he  cited  so  many  cases  in  which  capital 
aggregated  capital,  and  rich  men  supplanted  next 
of  kin  in  even  petty  successions,  that  to  calm 
Carson's  prophetic  rage  and  change  the  subject 
Randall  asked  : 

"  Will  Mrs.  Carson  conie  to  Bouie's  Hill  when 
she  leaves  the  valley  ? " 

"Yes;  Stan  wrote  me  the  old  arrangement 
must  hold  through  all  changes,  though  God 
knows  I  never  should  have  anticipated  such  a 
change  as  this  second  marriage." 

Rue  came  with  a  message  from  Miss  Carson, 


CHANaES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  41 

asking  Colonel  Beall's  judgment  in  some  grave 
matters  of  decoration.  As  lie  left  the  room  with 
the  child  the  dragoon,  whose  face  was  still  cloud- 
ed, asked  the  doctor  abruptly:  ^*Has  Stan  per- 
fectly recovered  his  health  \ " 

''N'o,"  said  Randall ;  then  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  ''  He  will  never  be  as  strong  as 
when  you  saw  him  last.  The  wound  from  which 
he  will  never  recover  is  Mrs.  Leszinksky's  death. 
It  took  all  his  courage  as  a  man,  all  his  patience 
and  faith  as  a  Christian,  to  bear  that  loss." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Carson  in  a  half -angry  tone, 
^'he  has  married  again.  I  can  scarcely  forgive 
Stan  this  treason  to  the  purest  woman,  the  most 
perfect  love,  ever  won  by  man." 

Both  were  silent  until  Randall,  looking  up,  saw 
great  tears  falling  over  the  bearded  face  of  the 
soldier.  Then  he  told  the  story — all  the  pitiful 
story  of  Margaret' s  illness  and  death  :  of  his 
stay  with  her  and  Rue  and  Stephanie  Castalar  at 
San  Antonio,  while  Leszinksky  was  with  Gen- 
eral Taylor  at  Palo  Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Pal- 
ma  ;  of  his  journey,  with  his  patient  and  the 
children,  to  Matamoras,  where  Mrs.  Leszinksky 
could  be  nearer  her  husband  and  with  her  old 
friends  the  Andersons.    He  told  of  the  deceptive 


42  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

improvement  in  her  healtli  that  finally  mocked 
their  hopes  ;  of  the  parting  when  Leszinksky, 
after  a  short  visit  to  Matamoras,  had  to  hurry  on 
to  C^margo  that  he  might  rejoin  General  Taylor 
before  the  attack  upon  Ampudia  at  Monterey. 
He  told  how,  in  that  last  supreme  moment  of  an- 
guish, the  wife  reminded  her  husband  of  the  pro- 
mise he  had  made  her  in  the  Witchita  valley — a 
promise  to  keep  Rue  with  him,  to  give  a  home 
in  his  old  age  to  Lo-loch-to-hoo-la.  She  recount- 
ed the  Indian's  faithful  and  unwearying  service 
to  her  and  to  their  child  in  Mexico,  where  liis 
love  to  them  had  brought  the  chief  afar  from 
his  land  and  his  people.  Then  she  talked  of 
Stephanie ;  of  the  kindness  of  the  Castalars  in 
the  happy  early  days  of  her  life  on  the  frontier  ; 
of  Stephen's  brave  effort  when  he  gave  his  life 
to  defend  their  child.  She  asked  that  Stephanie 
should  stay  with  Rue  and  be  made  to  feel  she 
had  of  right  a  home  with  the  Leszinkskys  ; 
that  Rue  be  taught  never  to  fail  in  remembrance 
of  the  debt  of  love  and  gratitude  owing  to  the 
dead  Castalars. 

Then  Randall  recounted  more  briefly  a  story 
Carson  had  already  partly  heard  from  Beall — 
the  story  of  Leszinksky  :  how,  twice  wounded  in 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  43 

that  heroic  charge  when  the  bishop's  palace  was 
stormed  at  Monterey,  Lo-loch-to-hoo-la  found 
Leszinksky,  with  his  arm  shattered  by  a  grape- 
shot,  lying  unconscious  amid  the  dead  who  had 
been  mowed  down  in  swaths  by  the  Mexican  ar- 
tillery ;  and  how  the  Pawnee  chief  brought  him 
out  of  that  fiery  storm  of  battle  to  the  ambu- 
lance where,  with  the  corps  of  surgeons,  Randall 
waited  for  the  wounded.  Here  Randall's  own 
words  give  the  clearest  picture  of  the  past  : 

^'We  amputated  Stan's  left  arm,  and  dressed 
the  wound  in  the  face  that  had  been  made  by 
the  splintered  bayonet  of  .a  soldier  who  was 
killed  by  his  side  ;  the  face-wound  was  slight,  but 
the  arm  was  so  crushed  and  shattered  it  had  to 
be  cut  at  the  shoulder.  He  had  begged,-  just  as 
soon  as  he  recovered  consciousness,  that  it  might 
be  done  at  once,  saying :  '  I  must  be  sent  back  to 
Camargo,  and  then  to  Matamoras.  I  must  reach 
there  before  my  wife  hears  I  am  wounded.  You 
know,  Randall,  she  would  insist  on  coming  to 
me,  so  patch  me  up  and  let  me  take  the  news  to 
her.  She  will  see  then  I  am  not  dangerously 
hurt.  If  you  do  not  the  excitement  and  the  anx- 
iety will  be  worse  for  her.'  There  was  a  tone  in 
those  last  words  I  could  not  resist.     That  night  I 


44  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

started  with  him  to  Camargo — one  hundred  and 
eighty  miles  in  an  ambulance.  You  will  know 
how  he  suffered.  When  we  reached  Camargo 
and  got  him  on  the  steamer  his  fever  was  at  its 
height.  But  during  it  all  his  only  impatience 
was  at  any  delay  ;  I  do  not  think  he  had  a 
thought  that  was  not  of  his  wife." 

There  was  a  break  in  the  voice  "of  the  speaker  ; 
then,  after  a  short  pause  and  a  hasty  glance  at 
Carson,  whose  face  was  shaded  by  his  hand,  Ran- 
dall continued : 

"  Mrs.  Leszinksky  was  dead  when  we  reached 
Matamoras.  We  carried  Stan  to  her  room  only 
to  look  upon  the  coffined  face  of  the  woman  who 
had  blessed  his  life  and  made  ours  better — " 

Again  there  was  a  hush  ;  then,  as  a  child's 
merry  laughter  rang  from  across  the  hall,  there 
came  a  half -stifled  groan  from  Carson,  and  the 
yellow,  glinting  rays  of  the  burning  lightwood 
were  reflected  in  the  drops  that  fell  thick  and 
fast  upon  his  tawny  beard. 

Eandall  had  walked  to  the  window.  Then,  as 
if  thinking  the  story  must  be  finished,  still 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  dragoon,  he  went 
on  : 

'^  There    were   a  lot   of    wounded   to   be   sent 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  45 

home,  and  I  got  leave  to  exchange  with  the  sur- 
geon in  charge.  At  New  Orleans  they  were  sent 
to  the  hospital  or  discharged,  so  I  came  here 
with  Stan,  and  the  children,  and  .  .  .  Mrs.  Les- 
zinksky's  remains.  .  .  .  You  know,  of  course, 
she  is  buried  here,  as  she  w^ished  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  go  on,  tell  it  all." 

'' Stan's  recovery  was  slow.  All  of  the  next 
year  he  was  at  Bouie'  s  Hill.  Your  sister  Mary 
had  gone  home — you  remember  your  father  was 
ill — so  Stephanie  Castalar  was  growing  to  woman- 
hood dependent  solely  upon  her  protector  and 
guardian.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Page  wxre  gone,  so 
were  the  families  of  all  of  our  old  comrades. 
The  new  j)eo]Dle  were  quite  different :  I  do  not 
think  there  is  another  such  set  of  gossij)s  and 
mischief-makers  in  the  army  as  that  which 
chance  had  then  gathered  into  the  fort.  You 
know  Stan's  character — how  thoroughly  unself- 
ish he  is ;  how  modest  in  his  estimate  of  him- 
self ;  how  tender  and  considerate  of  every  mem- 
ber of  his  household  ;  how  chivalric  and  respect- 
ful to  women.  Stephanie  could  not  help  but  love 
him.  I  saw  it  long  before  the  girl  could  have 
defined  the  feeling  that  was  filling  her  heart. 
But  I  saw  it  too  late  to  warn  her,  even  if  such 


46  THE  MODERN  EAGAR. 

warning  was  ever  heeded.  An  American  girl  of 
seventeen  would  have  outlived  her  dream  had 
she  been  rudely  awakened  ;  would  have  de- 
fended herself  with  her  inherent  coquetry,  would 
have  flirted  herself  out  of  love,  though  possibly 
shrining  in  her  heart  a  higher  ideal — one  that 
would  make  her  more  difficult  for  a  lover  to  vnn 
in  the  future,  because  of  the  lesson  learned  at  the 
outset.  But  Stephanie  has  the  mixed  French 
and  Indian  blood  ;  she  is  impulsive  and  passion- 
ate, quiet,  shy,  self-restrained,  but  absolute  in 
devotion. 

''  Had  I  thought  sooner  of  her  growing  woman- 
hood I  think  I  should  have  foreseen  what  must 
result  from  propinquity  and  opportunity.  But 
we  wiseacres  are  always  wise  in  the  fulness  of 
what  Tias  happened.  Then  when  I  did  see  I 
blundered  like  an  ass.  I  made  stupid  efforts  to 
detach  Stan  from  Bouie's  Hill,  to  introduce  the 
set  at  the  fort,  to  force  him  to  be  attentive  to 
women  who  were  his  friend's  guests.  Thus  I 
thought  to  relegate  Stephanie  back  to  childhood. 
The  result  was — I  taught  her  the  secret  of  her 
own  heart.  Unfortunately,  it  was  soon  an  open 
secret  to  the  garrison." 

Randall  walked  the  floor,  looking  from  time 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  47 

to  time  at  Carson,  whose  expectant  face  forced 
the  doctor  to  go  on : 

"You  know  something  of  garrison  scandal: 
its  persistent  prying,  its  amplification  of  facts, 
its  eagerness  to  scatter  its  grains  broadcast — in 
short,  the  potentiality  of  its  littleness.  Well, 
there  was  a  constant  undercurrent  of  talk — a 
flood  that  was  swelling  from  bank  to  bank;  I 
felt  as  a  Hollander  might  who  had  tried  to  as- 
sist a  poor  neighbor  by  helping  him  dig  his  gar- 
den, and,  digging  backwards,  had  unintention- 
ally cut  through  the  dike.  But — to  flounder  out 
of  my  metaphor — I  had  done  the  mischief  ;  and, 
seeing  Stephanie's  agitation  as  the  heart  waked 
the  senses ;  seeing,  too,  that  the  cruelest  of  crit- 
ics were  on  the  alert,  and  hearing  gossipping 
calculations  of  her  chances  of  failure  or  success, 
I  grew  pitiful  of  the  girl  and  tried  to  do  what 
was  right  and  just.  I  told  the  story  as  I  knew 
it  to  Stan,  adAdsing  him  to  send  Stephanie  to 
the  Misses  Minor's  school  at  Mount  Hope,  in 
Virginia.  You  know  Mount  Hope  belongs  to 
Hue.  Crippled  as  Stan  is  for  money,  it  was,  I 
thought,  the  best  thing  to  be  done.  The  Misses 
Minor  are  ladies,  and  Stephanie  could  not  have 
been  in  kinder  or  better  keeping ;   so  I  volun- 


48  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

teered  that  advice.  You  need  not  look  it.  I 
know  it  was  stupid,  cursedly  stupid ;  I  sliould 
have  known  what  Stan  would  do  when  this 
open  secret  of  the  garrison,  with  the  comments 
of  the  gossips,  was  told  him.  The  next  mottl- 
ing after  our  conversation — which  was  only  one- 
sided, for  I  talked— he  asked  me  if  I  would  ac- 
company Miss  Castalar  to  Memphis  to  Major 
Anderson's.  Like  a  blanked  idiot  I  expressed 
my  satisfaction  at  this  move,  and  added  that 
in  a  year  or  two  '  Stei^hanie  would  better  un- 
derstand her  position  in  his  family.'  He  inter- 
rupted me  with :  '  I  shall  go  for  IIiss  Castalar 
this  fall;  we  are  to  be  married  in  December.' 
Then  he  left  me  stunned  with  the  surprise  of 
an  ending  I  had  not  contemplated.  An  hour 
later  I' walked  over  the  hill  there" — and  Ran- 
dall pointed  to  where  a  shaft  of  white  marble 
gleamed  amid  the  euonymus- trees — *' where  I 
found  Stan  lying  senseless  upon  Mrs.  Leszink- 
sky's  grave." 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Where  is  the  child  that  would  willinglv  forget  the  most  tender  of 
parents,  though  to  remember  be  but  to  lament  ? " 

FOE,  some  minutes  after  Randall's  story  was 
told  there  was  a  deep  silence  in  the  room. 
Then  they  heard  from  the  sonth  piazza  a 
mingling  of  voices,  a  child's  glad  shout,  and 
the  tinkle  of  quick-running  little  feet. 

The  door  opening  into  the  hall  was  x)ushed 
ajar,  and  the  shining  brown  face  of  a  half -grown 
negro  boy  was  thrust  forward  into  the  room,  as 
he  announced,  with  an  air  evidently  studied  for 
the  occasion : 

"Major  Dezinksky  am  approachin'  de  prem- 
ises wid  his  bride.  We  done  seed  de  '  quipage 
over  dar  on  top  ov  de  ridge.  Miss  Rue  done 
gone  down  to  de  gate  to  pursent  her  'spects  on 
de  kashun ;  an'  Miss  Mary  an'  me  thought  you 
mouglit  like  to  jine  us  and  Kunnel  Beall  out 
on  de  piazzer,  whar  we'se  a-waitin'  to  make  our 
coviT^lwients  and  co7^gratulations." 

Randall  laughed,  and  even  Carson's  grim  face 

49 


50  TEE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

relaxed  into  a.  half-smile  as  he  muttered  some 
adjectives  to  whicli  "idiot"  was  finally  attach- 
ed. The  two  gentlemen  followed  the  self-im- 
portant and  self-appointed  usher  to  the  piazza, 
where  Beall  and  Miss  Carson  were  waiting.-  The 
carriage  of  the  travellers  was  now  in  full  view, 
coming  down  the  hill  on  the  oppo'site  side  of 
the  ravine  through  which  the  little  creek  wound 
around  the  base  of  Bouie's  Hill. 

As  the  carriage  passed  through  the  gate,  which 
Bob  Steams  held  open,  the  driver  reined  in  his 
Tiorses,  and  the  Indian  chief  lifted  the  eager 
child  into  the  door  that  was  opened  by  a  gen- 
tleman, who  folded  her  in  a  close  embrace.  Then 
loosening  the  little  hands  that  were  clasped 
about  his  head,  he  turned  her  face  to  the  lady 
,who  sat  by  his  side,  saying : 

"Kiss  your  new  mamma,   my  daughter." 
The  child  drew  back  with  a  cold,  proud  air: 
' '  She  is  not  my  mamma  ;  she  is  only  Stepha- 
nie.    My  mamma  is  with  God.     You  told  me 
so,  papa." 

"But,  my  dear  child,  because  your  mother 
is  with  God  He  has  sent  you  another  mother; 
so  you  will  kiss  her  and  let  her  be  your  mam- 
ma." 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  51 

The  child  looked  intently  into  her  fathers 
eyes ;  with  a  sudden  movement  she  turned  and 
held  her  scarlet  lips  for  the  silent  lady's  kiss, 
then  as  suddenly  returned  to  the  shelter  of  her 
father' s  breast,  hiding  her  face  as  she  said : 

''Stephanie  is  not  my  mamma;  but  if  God 
wants  her  to  be  my  mamma,  and  my  own  dear 
mamma  wants  her,  and  you  want  her,  why  I 
will  call  her  Mamma  Stephanie.  But  I  won't 
say  just  'mamma.'     Papa!  0  papa  !  I  cannot." 

The  child  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs  that  she 
tried  in  vain  to  stifle.  An  agonized  expression 
came  to  her  father's  face.  Recollecting  that  the 
scene  had  witnesses,  he  folded  his  cloak  about 
her  as  she  clung  to  him ;  then,  when  he  could 
release  his  solitary  arm,  he  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  Indian,  whose  eyes  flashed  a  glad  light 
as  their  hands  touched.  The  soldier  had  ad- 
vanced to  the  carriage-door,  and  there  was 
a  fresh  hand-shaking.  Of  course  Bob  found 
voice  : 

"I  wish  you  Joy,  major,  and  you  too,  Mrs. 
Leszinksky." 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  as  if  uncertain 
what  the  etiquette  of  the  occasion  required, 
Stearns    ventured    to  extend   his    hand    to   the 


52  •     THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

lady,  wlio  spoke  a  low  "Thank  you"  as  she 
touched  the  extended  hand  with  her  gloved  fin- 
gers, which  retreated  instantly  when  the  Indian 
reached  out  his  hand  to  follow  the  soldier' s  lead 
in  courtesy.  Tlie  rejected  hand  was  withdrawn, 
and  the  Indian  walked  back  to  Pike's  house, 
stopping  by  the  side  of  the  rough  log  steps, 
against  which  he  leaned,  while  a  mournful,  far- 
away look  gave  an  unusual  and  touching  ex- 
pression to  the  stern,  battle-scarred  face.  With 
a  quick  glance,  that  had  in  it  more  of  entreaty 
than  reproach,  at  the  lady  by  his  side.  Major 
Leszinksky  clasped  his  arm  about  his  little 
daughter  and  sprang  from  the  carriage.  He 
called  to  the  driver: 

"  Go  on,  Oscar ;  I  will  walk  up  to  the  house. 
You  need  not  wait." 

The  carriage-door  was  shut  by  Stearns,  who 
bowed  to  its  solitary  occupant  as  it  moved  on. 
Then  with  a  dramatic  shake  and  nod  of  his 
head,  which  shook  out  the  lengths  of  tawny 
curling  hair,  Stearns  turned  to  the  porch  of  the 
little  cabin,  where  Pike  was  answering  the  kind- 
ly greetings  of  the  beloved  friend  to  whom  he 
owed  shelter  and  support. 

As  Bob  came  up  the  steps  Major  Leszinksky 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIF'S  HILL.  53 

turned  to  his  little  daughter,  wlio  was  making 
a  brave  and  successful  effort  to  conquer  her 
sobs. 

^'JSTow,  Rue,  ask  your  friends  here  to  come  up 
the  hill  to  supper.  I  know  you  and  Miss  Mary 
have  prepared  a  feast  for  us  all." 

"Yes,  papa." 

The  blue-gray  eyes  flashed  through  misty  tears 
as  the  little  hands  resolutely  brushed  away  the 
falling  drops,  while  the  scarlet  lips  were  set  in 
firm  lines  which  betokened  a  will  that  would  rule 
her  OT\Ti  spirit,  no  matter  what  pain  the  conquest 
might  cost.  With  one  quick,  gasping  sigh  she 
continued,  the  low,  clear,  sweet  voice  growing 
steadier  and  firmer  with  each  word  : 

"You  must  come  up  to  supper.  Pike.  There 
is  a  little  table  set  for  you,  and  Bob,  and  my 
chief  ;  and  I  am  to  pour  your  coffee." 

She  looked  at  Pike  and  Bob,  who  promised. 
Turning  to  the  Indian,  she  waited  a  moment,  and 
then  addressed  him  impatiently  : 

"You  will  come,  my  chief?"  The  Indian 
silently  shook  his  head. 

Major  Leszinksky  spoke:  "I  trust  you  will 
come,  Lo-loch-to-hoo-la.  My  little  daughter 
would  be  greatly  disappointed  if  the  friend  who 


54  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

saved  lier  life  and  gave  her  back  to  us  should  re- 
fuse to  sit  at  the  table  she  has  prepared." 

Rue  had  caught  the  chiefs  hand  in  hers  while 
her  father  was  speaking.  She  instinctively  con- 
nected the  chief's  refusal  with  her  stepmother, 
whom  she  was  akeady  inclined  to  antagonize.  In 
place  of  the  old  condition  of  a  protective  equa- 
lity and  graciously  patronizing  sisterhood  with 
Stephanie  Castalar,  there  was  about  to  be  forced 
upon  her  a  new  and,  to  her,  incomprehensible  re- 
lationshij) — one  that  disturbed  her  ideas  of  pro- 
prietorship in  her  home  and  her  father. 

Moreover,  the  child,  young  as  she  Avas,  was  jeal- 
ous for  her  mother.  She  perfectly  remembered 
her  mother,  and  knew  that  she  herself  had  been 
second  to  her  in  the  love  of  the  father  she  wor- 
shipped. Had  she  not  lost  her  mother  it  is  possi- 
ble she  would  have  grown  to  be  dissatisfied  with 
the  second  place  in  the  affection  of  both  parents. 
Now  the  bitter  seed  had  fallen  into  a  quicken- 
ing soil.  As  I  have  said,  she  was  instantly  jeal- 
ous for  her  mother  and  as  instantly  jealous  for 
herself.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  development 
of  all  the  qualities  of  her  race — of  traits  of  char- 
acter that  had  been  dormant  in  the  blood  for  cen- 
turies.    From  that  moment  fate  rechristened  her 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  5j^ 

with  tlie  name  her  father  had  playfully  given  her 
in  her  babyhood.  The  thought  of  the  day  he 
had  called  her  ^'the  young  Yoyvoda,"  and  of 
Margaret' s  half -fearful,  half -playful  admission  of 
the  fitness  and  significance  of  the  title,  came  to 
Major  Leszinksky  as,  with  an  imi^erious,  insist- 
ent manner,  she  addressed  the  Indian  : 

^'You  will  come,   my  chief  !     It  is  my  table. 
Stephanie  " — with  a  glance  at  her  father  she  cor 
rected  this  to  ^'  Mamma  Stephanie  is  not  to  be  at 
my  table.     You  wiU  come  !  " 

The  words  embarrassed  all  who  were  pre- 
sent. Rue's  clairvoyance  in  the  matter  of 
the  Indian  and  her  stepmother  enlightened 
Leszinksky.  He  remembered  a  thousand  lit- 
tle, hitherto  indefinable  things  in  Stei)hanie 
Castalar's  manner  whenever  the  Indian  entered 
her  presence.  It  was  clear  to  him  that  she 
neither  forgot  nor  forgave  the  actors  in  that 
massacre  at  Castalar's  Yalley  where  all  of 
her  family  were  murdered.  Without  any  know- 
ledge of  these  circumstances,  where  the  Pawnee 
chief  had  been  an  aggressor,  Hue  had  divined 
her  stepmother's  antipathy  to  her  friend.  The 
circumstances  of  her  life  had  developed  her  per- 
ceptive faculty  to  a  wonderful  quickness.     She 


56  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

had  her  first  lesson  in  causation  as  the  chief 
replied,  rather  to  Leszinksky's  thought  than  to 
her  words : 

"  The  lodge  of  his  friend  is  shut  to  Lo-loch-to- 
hoo-la.  The  young  squaw  remembers  that  four 
winters  ago  Lo-loch-to-hoo-la  was  on  the  war- 
path by. the  Kiamesha.  His  love  for  the  child 
he  then  found  in  his  path,  for  the  Morning  Star 
that  beamed  on  the  dark  hour  of  his  life,  for 
Leszinksky  who  has  been  his  friend,  was  stron- 
ger in  the  heart  of  the  Indian  than  his  hatred 
of  the  oppressors  who  have  wronged  his  peo- 
ple ;  and  so  he  buried  the  hatchet  and  made 
peace  with  his  enemies.  But  the  Morning  Star 
is  with  the  Great  Spirit,  and  Leszinksky  has 
taken  into  his  lodge  the  daughter  of  the  half- 
breed  Sioux  whom  the  Pawnees  chased,  with 
his  Avhite  father  the  thieving  Indian  trader, 
from  the  settlement  on  the  Platte,  to  find  him, 
after  many  winters  had  passed,  on  the  south  bank 
of  the  Canadian.  His  lands  and  cattle  were 
bought  with  the  blood-money  for  which  his  father 
sold  the  Pawnees  to  their  enemies.  The  lies  of 
the  trader  had  filled  the  ears  of  the  Great  Father 
of  the  white  men,  and  the  Pawnees  were  driven 
from  their  lands  to  starve  in  the  wilderness." 


CHANGES  AT  BOUIE'S  HILL.  57 

It  was  the  first  time  Leszinksky  liad  ever  heard 
the  Indian  refer  to  the  massacre  at  Castalar's. 
By  an  unspoken  agreement  they  had  avoided 
mention  of  that  catastrophe,  which  Leszinksky 
had  never  attributed  to  personal  revenge,  bnt 
merely  to  the  accidental  finding  of  the  settlement 
on  the  San  Bois  by  the  war-party. 

It  was  Rue's  first  lesson  in  the  -wrongs  of  the 
Indian.  It  enlightened  her  much  more  fully 
than  one  could  easily  believe  possible  at  so  early 
an  age  and  to  so  unripe  an  understanding.  Slie 
had  held  the  chief's  hand  while  he  was  speak- 
ing ;  she  pressed  it  affectionately  when  he  made 
mention  of  his  love  for  her,  and  for  her  mother. 
As  his  story  ended  she  exclaimed  impetuously  : 

'^  You  shall  not  starve,  my  chief  !  You  sTiall 
live  with  us.  You  shall  eat  at  my  table,  I 
tell  you  !  "  And  the  voice  rang  loud  and  firm. 
*'  My  table !  I  hate  the  people  who  were  bad  to 
you.  I  love  you  next  to  papa — better  than  Os- 
car, or  Bob,  or  Pike.  You  will  come  with  me, 
my  chief.  O  my  chief !  you  will  always  stay 
with  me." 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  quivering  moan  of  en- 
treaty. The  Indian  caught  her  in  his  arms.  He 
could  not  resist  the  entreaty  of  the  child  of  his 


58  THE  3WDERN  HAGAE. 

love — the  child  he  had  found  on  the  war-path 
and  adopted  as  his  own.  The  fiery  eyes  softened 
with  the  mist  of  unshed  tears. 

''Come,"  said  Leszinksky  softly,  placing  his 
hand  on  Lo-loch-to-hoo-la's  shoulder,  and  to- 
gether they  went  up  the  path  under  the  leaf- 
less trees  of  the  orchard. 


BOOK    FIEST, 


PART     SECOND. 


HAGAR. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

""  The  true  gods  sigh  for  the  cost  and  pain — 

For  the  reed  which  grows  nevermore  again 

As  a  reed  with  the  reeds  in  the  river." 

ALAD Y  walked  up  and  down  tlie  wide  porch  of 
a  large,  old-fashioned  house  built  on  a  high, 
w^ooded  knoll  that  overlooked  the  Hudson. 
She  was  a  mere  girl  of  nineteen,  tall,  dark,  and 
stately,  with  a  dignified  carriage  and  a  face 
which  evinced  a  decided  character.  She  was 
not  beautiful,  but  there  was  in  face  and  form 
latent  possibility  of  beauty.  She  was  one  of 
those  sallow,  slender  brunettes  who  may  ripen  to 
a  rich  perfection  or  wither  to  positive  ugliness. 


60  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

It  was  a  warm,  breezeless  morning  of  the  early 
summer,  and  something,  either  in  the  lady's 
mood  or  in  the  weather,  had  deepened  the  color 
of  the  full  red  lips,  and  tinged  the  usually  pale 
cheeks  to  a  faint  crimson.  Gradually  the  slow, 
stately  step  slackened,  and  there  were  long 
pauses  at  the  end  of  the  porch  commanding 
a  view  of  occasional  stretches  of  the  road,  upon 
which  a  horseman  appeared  and  disappeared 
until  he  finally  vanished  in  a  turn  through  the 
hnis. 

After  a  longer  pause  the  lady  crossed  the 
porch  to  an  open  glass  door,  through  which  she 
entered  the  library.  She  stood  for  a  moment 
beside  a  table,  idly  turning  the  leaves  of  a  book 
of  engravings,  then  walked  slowly  about  the 
room  with  the  air  of  a  person  unacquainted 
with  the  objects  it  contained.  Oi:)posite  the 
door  leading  into  the  hall,  and  at  right  angles 
with  the  window  through  which  she  had  en- 
tered, was  a  curtained  recess. 

Pulling  aside  the  heavy  drapery,  she  found  a 
door,  fastened  with  a  bolt  which  she  pushed 
back,  only  to  find  that  the  door  still  resisted 
opening.  Smilingly  she  murmured,  "Blue- 
beard's closet!"  and  then   tried  a  door  oppo- 


HAGAR.  61 

site  the  window.  It  opened  into  a  billiard-room, 
wMcli  also  liad  a  curtained  recess,  the  counter- 
part in  position  and  fastenings  of  the  one  in  the 
library. 

'^They  evidently  open  into  the  same  apart- 
ment," she  thought.  A  certain  pleasurable  cu- 
riosity made  her  forgetful  of  her  previous  pre- 
occupation. 

She  rang  the  bell'  and  told  the  servant  who 
answered  it  to  send  her  maid  with  the  keys  of 
the  house.  With  her  maid,  a  bright,  intelligent 
mulatto,  came  the  housekeeper,  who  asked,  with 
a  slight  appearance  of  embarrassment:  "What 
keys  are  wanted,  madame  ^ ' 

*' All  the  keys.     I  wish  to  see  the  house." 

The  housekeeper  left  the  room.  The  maid, 
with  the  respectfully  familiar  air  of  the  Yii'gin- 
ian  servant  born  to  service  and  "brought  up 
with  the  family"  (to  use  their  own  definition 
of  position),  walked  to  where  her  mistress  was 
seated,  and,  while  rearranging  the  heavy  bands 
of  hair  that  shaded  the  temples,  said : 

"I  tell  you  this's  a  mighty  funny  sort  o' 
place,  Mis'  Kate  ;  mighty  queer  folks  'bout  this 
house.  I  didn't  say  nothin'  'bout  it  this  morn- 
in',  'cause  Marse  Capin  was  likely  to  come  in 


62  TEE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

any  minute,  but  I  certainly  did  see  a  ghost  las^ 
niglit." 

''Konsense,  Rose  !  A  woman  of  your  age  has 
surely  outgrown  such  childish  folly.  You'll  be 
trying  oM  charms  next,  if  such  notions  get  into 
that  stupid  head  of  yours.  I  thought  you  knew 
better." 

^'Heap  wiser  folks  than  me.  Mis'  Kate,  be- 
lieves in  ghosts,  and  them  oM  conjurers — it  don't 
do  no  good  to  get  thar  ill-will ;  but  I  ain'  t 
skeered  of  'em  like  some  o'  our  fool  planta- 
tion hands  is.  But,  Mis'  Kate,  for  sho'  I  did 
see  in  the  hall  out  thar  somebody  all  in  black 
when  I  come  down  from  your  room  after  you 
was  gone  to  bed  las'  night." 

^'It  mi2:ht  have  been  one  of  the  maids  or  the 
housekeeper.  Besides,  who  ever  heard  of  a  ghost 
in  black?" 

''No,  Mis'  Kate.  'TwalmH  none  of  them. 
They  was  all  over  thar  in  thar  rooms  over  the 
kitchen  when  I  got  thar.  I  run  so  fast  and 
so  hard  I  stumbled  as  I  turn  in  tliat  passage, 
and  the  housekeeper  she  come  out  and  asked 
'what  was  the  matter,  and  if  I  couldn't  find 
my  way  to  my  room.'  I  didn't  say  nothiii', 
1    was   so   upsot,    and    she    called  to   the  girls 


HAQAR.  63 

to  open  thar  door  and  show  me  the  way  to 
my  room." 

''  Then  it  was  a  shadow — x^ossibly  your  own." 

''No,  Mis'  Kate,  'twahn't  no  shadder  ;  least- 
ways 'twahn't  mine.  If  it  was  a  shadder  it  was 
might' ly  like  somebody  I  nsed  to  see — some- 
body with  thar  back  hair  tucked  np  like  yourn, 
and  little  soft  curls  put  back  so." 

And  she  smoothed  her  mistress'  bands  to  in- 
dicate the  manner  in  which  the  curls  were  caught 
back  from  the  face. 

"  Well,  whom  did  the  curly-headed  woman  re- 
semble?" 

''Lucy.  You  don't 'member  Lucy,  Mis'  Kate. 
She  belonged  to  Mis'  Margaret  Cart' ret,  and  she 
went  with  her  out  to  the  Injun  country.  She  was 
'most  white— white  as  some  white  folks,  whiter 
'an  most  poor  white  folks.  An'  she  had  long- 
brown  curls,  on'y  she  didn't  we'r  'em  put  up 
like  she  had  'em  last  night." 

"But  a  ghost  wouldn't  change  the  fashion  of 
its  curls  ;  so  you  see  you  are  a  little  old  goose." 
And  the  mistress  smiled  at  the  maid. 

"Well,  if  'twahn't  a  ghost,  Mis'  Kate,  it  cer- 
tainly was  Lucy.  I  hearn  that  Mis'  Margaret  sold 
her.     She  must  a-done  something  mighty  bad  or 


64  1SE  3I0DERN  IIAGAB. 

Mis'  Margaret  never  would  a- sold  lier.  I  know 
tliar  was  some  old  story  about  Mis'  Margaret 
a-findin'  her  in  a  graveyard,  where  her  mammy 
was  lying  dead  on  the  grave  of  the  biggest  gam- 
bler ever  was  in  Richmond.  I  'member  when 
he  was  killed  ;  that  was  'fore  yon  was  born, 
Mis'  Kate.  Cap'n  Coleman  shot  him  down  on 
Main  Street — shot  him  just  like  he  was  a  mad 
dog ;  an'  folks  say  he  was  Lucy's  father.  But 
thar  was  whar  Mis'  Margaret  found  Lucy,  in 
the  graveyard,  and  old  Marse  Tom  Cart' ret 
bought  her  fur  Mis'  Margaret— bought  her 
right  out  en  a  graveyard." 

And  she  ended  her  story  with,  a  low,  gurgling 
laugh  that  stopped  abruptly  as  the  gaunt,  stern- 
faced  housekeeper  returned  with  the  keys. 

"Open  that  door,"  said  the  lady,  pointing  to 
the  curtained  recess. 

"  Captain  Hartley  has  the  keys  of  that  room," 
the  housekeeper  answered ;  then  added,  as  the 
lady  hesitated  to  follow  her  through  the  door 
of  the  hall  that  she  held  open:  "I  have  no- 
thing to  do  with  the  rooms  on  that  side  of  the 
house.  They  are  Captain  Hartley'' s  private 
rooms.  They  are  closed  when  he  is  away,  and 
when  he  is  here  his  man  attends  to  them." 


HA  GAB.  65 

''Yevj  well;  you  can  unlock  all  of  the  other 
rooms  and  open  the  blinds.  Every  room  will  be 
needed  next  week ;  the  house  will  then  be  full 
of  guests.  If  my  husband  prefers  to  use  these 
rooms  we  will  take  them  ;  if  not  they  can  be  put 
in  order  for  other  use." 

She  haughtily  nodded  dismissal  to  the  house- 
keeper, who  left  the  room,  and  sank  back  into 
the  easy-chair. 

Another  low  gurgle  of  laughter  from  the  mu- 
latto, who  soon  found  breath  to  say  : 

''That  white  woman  thinks  she's  mistis  of  this 
place  yit ;  that's  what  comes  of  havin'  poor 
white  folks  'roun.  If  you  wants  that  key.  Mis' 
Kate,  I  know  whar  to  get  it.'^ 

"Then  get  it  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Hartley. 

The  imperious  tone  of  the  first  syllable  told 
the  intelligent  servant  more  truly  than  the  words 
that  this  mood  required  silent  obedience.  The 
affectionately  familiar  air  instantly  changed  to 
respectful  attention. 

"Yes,  Mis'  Kate." 

She  was  gone  but  a  few  moments,  and  returned 
with  a  bunch  of  keys. 

A  look  from  her  mistress  instructed  her.  The 
keys  were  hastily  tried  and  the  door  was  opened. 


66  THh  MODERN  IIAGAR, 

Rose  entered  the  room  and  threw  back  the 
shntters  and  an  outer  door  from  which  a  short 
flight  of  steps  led  under  and  through  a  vine- 
covered  arbor.  The  paved  walk  and  leafy  trel- 
lis ended  at  a  small  gate  opening  into  a  shrub- 
bery of  forest  and  fruit  trees. 

Mrs.  Hartley,  who  had  held  the  curtains  aside 
while  Rose  fitted  the  key,  let  them  fall  together 
as  she  closed  the  door  of  the  library  behind  her 
and  entered  the  room,  which  was  altogether  dif- 
ferent in  character  from  any  she  had  yet  seen  in 
the  house. 

The  windows  were  Norman  arches  of  stained 
glass,  the  doors  aud  wood-work  of  heavy  oak. 
The  panelled,  gray-painted  walls  were  hung  with 
engravings  surmounted  with  curious  bits  of  armor, 
glistening  arms,  and  trophies  of  the  chase.  The 
polished  oaken  floor  was  partly  covered  with 
rugs  of  Eastern  make  and  beautifully-preserved 
skins  from  which  the  raised  heads  of  the  animals 
seemed  on  watch  for  intruders. 

The  young  wife  forgot  in  her  delight  the  late 
jar  to  her  dignity,  which  had  been  given  more 
by  the  housekeeper' s  manner  than  by  her  words. 
The  words  were  civilly  spoken,  but  something  in 
the  speaker's  face  had  implied  a  higher  authority 


HAGAR.  67 

in  the  house  than  this  newly-arrived  mistress. 
The  offence  was  one  the  imperious  lady  would 
neither  overlook  nor  forgive  ;  but  for  the  moment 
it  was  forgotten,  and  Rose,  magnetically  con- 
scious of  the  change  in  her  mistress's  mood, 
again  resumed  the  easy  manner  of  an  affection- 
ate and  favorite  servant. 

"O  Rose!  this  is  the  most  beautiful  room  I 
ever  saw." 

"It  is  pretty.  Mis'  Kate;  but  I  think  Marse 
Cax^'n  might  a-bought  a  whole  carpet.  If  the 
room  had  one  of  them  fine  velvet  ones  like  we 
got  at  home  it  would  a-been  a  sight  prettier." 

' '  Rose,  you  simpleton,  there  is  not  a  room  at 
Belleview  or  at  the  Cedars  that  can  compare  with 
this." 

' '  No,  Mis'  Kate,  thar  ain'  t  at  the  Cedars. 
You  see  marster  won't  fix  that  up  till  Mis'  Mar- 
garet's little  girl  is  growed  up — that  is,  if  she 
lives  ;  if  she  don't  live,  then  Marse  Tom  comes 
in,  and  'twouldn't  be  no  use  fubbishin'  it  up  un- 
less he  got  married.  It' s  good  '  nuff  now  for  all 
the  hunters  and  the  dogs  in  the  county  to  crowd 
in.  But  marster' s  new  parlors,  which  he  fixed 
up  when  he  married  Marse  Cap'n's  sister,  is  heap 
liner  'an  this." 


68  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Her  smiling  mistress  was  walking  from  engrav- 
ing to  engraving  when  Rose  stopped  her  speech 
to  try  still  another  door.  It  opened  into  the 
room  adjoining  the  billiard-room,  and  completed 
the  square  of  the  one-storied  Aving. 

Mrs.  Hartley  had  not  missed  her  loquacious 
maid  until  a  sudden  exclamation  caused  her  to 
turn  to  the  door  of  the  newly-opened  room,  now 
•flooded  with  light,  where  Rose  was  standing  be- 
side a  portfolio  which  had  fallen  from  an  easel 
she  struck  in  opening  the  window.  From  its 
scattered  contents  of  engravings  and  sketches 
she  had  picked  out  the  one  piece  of  bright  color, 
and  was  standing  in  open-mouthed  wonder  gaz- 
ing at  a  large  oil-painting  that  had  evidently 
been  cut  from  its  frame  and  rudely  folded  to  fit 
in  the  portfolio. 

As  Mrs.  Hartley  crossed  the  threshold  Rose 
turned.  In  a  thriUing  tone  of  fright  and  amaze- 
ment she  said : 

''It's  her,  Mis'  Kate— it's  the  ghost !  " 

"What  ghost?" 

"  The  one  I  tole  you 'bout — the  woman  I  saw 
in  the  hall  las'  night  tliat  looked  like  Mis'  Mar- 
garet's Lucy.  If  she's  dead" — and  there  was 
the  tremor  of  a  positive  terror  in  her  voice — 


HAGAR.  69 

'* 'twas  her  ghost  a-lookin'  for  somebody — this 
here  chiles,  may  be.  If  she  an't  dead,  then 
she' s  a  livin'  here  ;  fur  this '  s  her  picture,  Mis' 
Kate."  And  she  held  up  the  canvas  for  her  mis- 
tress to  see  it. 

The  subject  of  the  picture  was  the  hackneyed 
one  of  ^'Hagar  in  the  Desert,"  but  it  had  not 
been  treated  in  the  usual  conventional  manner 
nor  in  strict  accordance  with  sacred  history. 

Beneath  a  group  of  feathery  date-palms  in  the 
centre  of  a  green  oasis  a  spring  had  burst  out 
of  a  rocky  little  depression  and  was  winding 
through  a  leafy  channel  to  the  sands.  Pros- 
trate beside  it  the  beautiful  Egyptian  was  dip- 
ping up  the  sparkling  drops  with  one  hand  while 
the  other  clutched  the  fold  of  a  scarlet  mantle 
upon  which  was  lying  her  fainting  child.  The 
artist  had  selected  the  moment  when  the  ex- 
hausted mother  gains  the  life-saving  shelter  of 
the  palms — her  last  effort  expended  in  that  su- 
preme struggle  of  motherhood  with  the  burning 
sands  and  the  fiery  sun. 

There  were  grave  faults  in  the  painting  —  a 
critic  could  have  found  them  by  the  dozen — but 
there  was  also  revealed  in  it  the  soul  of  a  great 
artist.     It  was  so  finely  spiritual  in  meaning  that 


70  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

a  sensualist  would  have  turned  from  it  in  dis- 
may. It  was  not  a  temptation,  but  a  reproach 
to  passion.  The  ragged  little  sandals,  the  bleed- 
ing feet,  the  wasted  arms,  the  shadows  on  the 
face  half  veiled  by  the  heavy  masses  of  the  fallen 
hau\  were  all  parts  of  her  story,  pitifully  accent- 
ed by  the  mournful  look  in  the  soft  brown  eyes 
and  the  unforgetting  tenderness  with  which  she 
clung  to  the  folds  of  the  mantle  about  her  child. 

It  had  a  wonderful  effect  ujoon  the  i)roud  wo- 
man, w^ho  instinctively  knew  she  was  looking  on 
the  face  of  a  rival. 

Through  the  fierce  anger  which  flashed  quick 
and  hot  in  every  quivering  nerve  of  the  indig- 
nant wife  when  Rose  clothed  the  ghost  in  flesh 
and  found  its  iDictured  semblance  in  the  bed- 
chamber of  her  husband,  she  felt  a  contemptu- 
ous pity  for  this  faded  Hagar. 

But  the  child  ?  She  restlessly  moved  from 
point  to  point  of  view  to  see  if  the  light  would 
not  somewhere  penetrate  the  tangle  of  waving 
hair  and  let  her  see  clearly  the  features  of  the 
hidden  face. 

She  was  jealous  of  the  child  ! 

It  was  the  rival  of  the  life  that  liad  just  begun 
•to  beat  beneath  lier  own  henrt.     She  knew  she 


HAGAR. 


71 


need  not  «ay,  "  Cast  out  this  bondwoman."  The 
sad,  fearful  eyes  of  the  pictured  face  said  that 
all  loss  had  befallen  that  mother  except  loss  of 
her  child,  and  the  clinging  hold  of  the  scarlet 
mantle  told  of  an  agony  of  apprehension  lest 
that  loss  also  should  come. 

There  is  a  j)rescience  of  the  heart !  It  was  that 
which  taught  the  inexperienced  wife  the  story 
dimly  outlined  in  the  pictured  face  of  the  Ha- 
gar,  and  it  was  a  story  which  affected  her  own 
life.  Her  brother  had  opposed  her  marriage. 
She  knew  from  his  words  of  warning — words  she 
had  only  imperfectly  understood— that  there  w^ere 
histories  in  the  past  of  her  husband  unfit  for  her 
knowledge.  Her  father  had  not  cordially  ap- 
proved of  his  wife's  brother  as  a  suitor  for  his 
daughter,  but  his  daughter' s  avowal  of  her  pre- 
ference and  his  wife's  entreaties  had  won  his 
reluctant  consent.  His  doubts  were  met  and 
hushed  with  those  pleas  which  the  world  is  so 
willing  to  make  for  the  reformed  profligate. 

But  now  the  young  wife  was  face  to  face  with 
an  episode  in  her  husband's  life  that  was  not 
altogether  buried  out  of  sight  in  the  buried  past 
She  did  not  doubt  for  an  instant  the  identity  of 
Rose's  ghost     The  Hagar  of  the  picture  was  in 


72  THE  MODERN  EAGAIi, 

the  house  to  which  her  husband  had  brought 
her.  There  had  already-  been,  in  her  short  mar- 
ried life,  moments  of  more  than  half-awakening 
from  the  glamour  of  her  love- dream — moments 
of  torture  from  the  vague  imaginings,  the  un- 
rest, that  precedes  distrust.  The  yielding  cour- 
tesy, the  deferential  admiration  of  the  lover, 
were  already  things  of  the  past.  The  husband 
of  six  months  had  either  forgotten  or  was  reck- 
lessly careless  of  the  methods  by  which  he  had 
won  her.  The  stately  gallantry,  the  finished 
manner,  with  which  the  man  of  mature  age  had 
charmed  her  out  of  the  circle  of  her  youth  was 
an  investiture  of  ceremony  donned  with  holiday 
attire,  but  now  rarely  on  show  in  the  narrowed 
circle  of  their  home  life. 

There  was  already  a  melodramatic  tone  in  this 
marriage  duo— a  prophecy  of  tragedy  in  the  si- 
lence of  certain  chords.  It  lacked  the  shading 
of  the  playful  badinage,  of  the  sentimental  bab- 
ble, that  mocks  the  wisdom  of  man  by  winning 
the  wisest  to  the  delight  of  Love's  wise  folly. 

In  the  crisis  of  sensation  which  this  discovery 
of  the  picture  precipitated  came  the  bitter  know- 
ledge of  good  and  evil.  It  was  something  more 
than  the  ordinary  divestiture  of  romance — some- 


HAGAR.  73 

thing  different  from  that  loss  of  the  ideal  in  its 
fusion  with  the  real  which  is  the  varied  but  con- 
stantly recurring  experience  of  marriage.  It  was 
not  the  mere  uncovering  of  the  feet  of  clay,  the 
flaw  in  the  divinity  of  the  god,  but  the  proof 
that  the  idol  was  brutally  and  sensually  human. 
It  was  a  profound  calamity,  for  it  extinguished 
the  sacred  fire  on  the  altar  of  marriage ;  it  was 
infinitely  sorrowful,  for  it  struck  at  the  exist- 
ence of  an  infinite  love  ;  it  was  the  end  of  faith, 
of  reverence. 

The  young  wife  had  begun  to  learn  the  lesson 
which,  in  its  last  letters,  spells  love's  death-war- 
rant. Its  phrases  were  the  varied  moods  of  the 
egoist — indifference,  complacence,  passion,  carp- 
ing criticism,  and,  most  grievous  of  all  to  a 
young,  proud,  loving  nature,  sneering  silence. 

Face  to  face  with  the  portrait  to  which  Eose 
had  given  name  and  meaning,  Mrs.  Hartley  felt 
it  to  be  a  premeditated  insult.  All  the  lesser 
wrongs  to  her  love  crowded  about  her  as  wit- 
nesses against  her  husband.  No  excusing 
thought  suggested  that  accident  or  carelessness 
had  left  here  a  forgotten  picture.  To  her  it 
was  simply  the  portrait  of  a  woman  whose  pre- 
sence in  the  house  was  an  outrage ;  of  a  child 


74  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

whose  existence  was  a  bar  to  the  happiness  of 
motherhood.  She  was  too  young,  too  inexpe- 
rienced more  than  dimly  to  understand  this 
new  future  which  had  fallen  like  a  pall  over 
the  dead-born  future  of  her  girlish  dreams. 
She  did  not  yet  understand  that  when  trust 
is  impossible  and  loyalty  dies  of  shuddering 
repulsion  the  end  has  come.  She  did  not  know 
that  this  freshly-turned  page  in  her  life  was 
only  a  new  reading  of  an  every-day  story. 

An  over- indulged,  motherless  girl  had  followed 
her  fancy — or,  to  speak  more  truly,  had  followed 
a  skilfully  hidden  leading  of  fancy— into  the 
outspread  net  of  a  sensualist.  Yet  she  was 
not  altogether  his  victim,  but  partly  the  victim 
of  that  vague  longing  of  the  springtime,  that 
tumult  of  the  senses  which  flows  from  the 
heart  of  nature  through  all  sentient  things,  that 
''need  of  love"  which  is  essentially  human. 

A  wise  mother  would  have  shielded  her  daugh- 
ter from  the  enemy  who  found  aids  in  her  inno- 
cence and  purity  ;  would  have  taught  her  to  dis- 
tinguish the  difference  between  the  leading  and 
the  illumination  of  the  senses.  Such  a  priestess, 
if  she  has  listened  understandingly  to  the  celes- 
tial  harmonies,   is  a  divinely-inspired  teacher. 


HAGAR.  75 

She  has  learned  that  the  soul  of  marriage  is 
truth,  which  is  love,  and  that  without  love  mar- 
riage is  the  mere  coni)ling  of  two  galley-slaves ; 
yet,  that  if  truth  be  Avounded  through  the  false- 
hood of  one,  a  martyr  may  win  heavenward  by 
carrying  the  burden  of  a  festering  corpse. 

Before  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  souls, 
for  whom  the  world  was  made,  were  fashioned 
for  each  other  —  male  and  female  created  He 
them.  When  we  understand  what  is  meant  by 
this  unequal  halving  of  human  souls  we^  shall 
be  wise  as  gods.  For  this  is  the  hidden  mys- 
tery of  the  ages,  the  secret  imprisoned  in  the 
sphinx,  where  the  soul  of  the  woman  has  par- 
tially escaped  the  bondage  of  the  animal,  and 
with  brooding  eyes  watches  for  the  coming  of 
the  deliverer  who  is  to  lift  her  to  companion- 
ship with  the  immortals.  This  is  the  riddle  of 
old  Egypt,  entombed  in  stone,  which  has  puz- 
zled, which  still  puzzles,  philosopher  and  -theo- 
logian, which  has  baffled  the  poet,  the  accred- 
ited interpreter  of  the  gods. 


CHAPTER  YII. 

"  By  a  bridge  I  cannot  see 
Comes  that  far-off  memory." 

WHILE  holding  the  canvas  for  Mrs.  Hartley 
to  see  the  painting,  Rose  had  again,  and 
with  more  minute  circumstance,  related 
the  story  of  Lucy. 

The  child  in  the  picture  had  touched  a  fresh 
key  in  Rose's  memories  of  tlie  past,  and  these 
memories  were  daggers  of  certainty  in  the  mind 
of  her  mistress. 

^' Yes,  she  did  have  a  child;  'twas  'bout  that 
Mis'  Margaret  sold  her.  You  see.  Mis'  Kate, 
Lucy  was  a  quarteroon,  but  the  child  was  white  ; 
an'  its  father  bought  'em  both  an'  carried  'em 
'way  off  north  somewhere.  I  wonder  wbar  this 
picture  of  her  come  from,  anyway  V 

Something  which  she  saw  just  then  in  the  face 
of  her  mistress  enlightened  her.  With  that  in- 
stinctive accordance  with  the  mood  of  her  mis- 
tress that  I  have  already  mentioned  as  a  quality 
in  the  African  blood,  she  stopped  iu   the  very 


HAGAR.  77 

flood  of  speech  and  waited,   still  silently  hold- 
ing the  extended  canvas. 

''There,  Rose,  you  can  fold  \\^  the  painting. 
Pid  yon  find  it  in  the  portfolio?" 

"Yes,  Mis'  Kate.  It  busted  out  o'  this  side- 
pocket  here  when  I  picked  the  things  up." 

''Very  well,  put  it  back  again  where  you 
found  it.  You  see  you  dreamed  the  ghost ;  an 
oh  I  witch  always  dreams  of  w^hat  she  will  see 
next  day."  There  was  a  proud,  smiling  scorn 
in  Mrs.  Hartley's  face,  yet  under  that  mask 
Rose  saw  a  point  of  interrogation. 

"I  did  see  Lucy  las'  night.  Mis'  Ka.te.  I 
didn't  dream  it,  an'  I  ain't,  no  witch  nuther.  If 
I  'ad  a-seen  her  when  I  was  a-dreamin'  she'd 
a-looked  just  'zactly  like  she  did  w^hen  she 
used  to  be  at  ole  Marse  Tom  Cart' ret' s.  But  she 
didn't.  I  didn't  rightways  know  her  jus'  at 
first,  but  I  thought  she  was  mightily  like  some- 
body I  seen  long  ago.  I  reckon  that  was  what 
skeered  me  into  thinking  'twas  a  ghost.  She's 
a  heap  paler  'an  she  used  to  be" — here  there 
was  a  half -apologetic  glance  as  she  went  on, 
"an'  a  heap  more  like  a  lady  than  a  quar- 
teroon" — then  a  short  silence;  but  seeing  no 
change  in  the  proud  face  still  turned  to  the  pic- 


78  THE  3I0DERN  EAGAR. 

ture,  Eose  continued  :  ''May  be  Lucy's  livin' 
somewhar  'bout  here,  an'  she  might  a-came  to 
see  the  housekeeper  las'  night.  That  stuck-up 
rascal  o'  Marse  Cap'n's  might  a-let  her  in.  The 
do'  of  the  libr'y  was  open,  an'  the  light  shined 
on  her  face  out  the  do'  so  I  could  see  her  plain ~ 
'most  as  plain  as  I  sees  you.  Mis'  Kate.  IN'ot 
rightways  a-knowin'  at  first  jus'  who  she  was, 
but  seein'  her  look  like  somebody  I  couldn't 
jus'  make  out  who,  was  what  struck  me  all 
a-heap  so  'bout  her  bein'  a  ghost." 

Mrs.  Hartley  w^ent  into  the  next  room  again 
and  examined  more  closely  the  engravings  and 
sketches  upon  the  walls,  but  found  no  hint  of 
the  Hagar — "Nothing!  unless  it  is  this  lovely 
miniature^painted  on  ivory — this  angelic  child's 
face  with  the*  violet  eyes  and  the  dusky,  au- 
burn hair.  The  hair,  in  its  flowing  ripples  of 
wavy  bronze,  resembles  the  tangle  of  soft,  loose 
curls  which  hid  the  child's  face  in  that  picture 
of  Hagar— this  is  the  face  that  was  hidden  in 
that  picture !  Hagar  may  be  dej^osed,  forgot- 
ten, but  the  child  has  kept  a  place  in  the  house 
of  her  father." 

Mrs.  Hartley  turned  from  the  miniature,  try- 
ing to  fix  m  her  thought  a  half-recollection,  a 


HAOAB.  79 

fleeting,  puzzling  impression,  the  meaning  of 
something  to  which  she  had  once  refused  to 
listen. 

What  was  it  her  brother  had  tried  to  tell 
her  ?  Was  it  some  story  of  the  garrison  life  of 
her  husband?  a  mention  of  her  cousin  Marga- 
ret— something  the  Leszinkskys  had  said  or 
known  ?  some  story  of  a  beautiful  slave  ? 

Presently,  in  a  dim  way,  she  remembered 
Lucy. 

Memory  had  unrolled  the  panorama  of  life 
backward  and  found  the  figures  left  in  the 
past — in  the  lost  fairy-land  of  childhood.  They 
came  slowly,  like  visions  in  a  dream — her  beau- 
tiful cousin  and  her  cousin's  pretty  slave. 
Slowly,  slowly  came  the  stately,  blue-eyed  lady, 
and  the  slender,  lithe  attendant  with  the  long 
brown  curls,  the  soft  brown  eyes,  the  shapely 
little  hands,  and  the  delicate  feet — the  quad- 
roon with  the  creamy  color  of  a  freshly-open- 
ed magnolia-bud. 

Again  Mrs.  Hartley  turned  to  the  miniature 
to  study  the  features,  the  expression  ;  to  see 
clearly  the  likeness  that  had  attracted  and  riv- 
eted her  attention — the  likeness  to  her  husband 
complexly  mingled  with  another  likeness. 


80  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

Rose  had  followed  her  mistress  after  rear- 
ranging the  contents  of  the  fallen  portfolio  and 
reclosing  the  windows  in  the  bed-room  where 
she  had  stumbled  into  what  she  felt  was  an  as- 
tounding discovery.  Full  of  its  importance  to 
her  mistress,  and  by  consequence  to  herself, 
yet  with  instinctive  and  ready  apprehension  of 
her  mistress's  desire  to  be  alone,  she  had  gone 
out  under  the  vine-covered  arbor,  and,  seated  on 
the  lower  step  of  the  open  door,  awaited  silently 
some  expression  of  will  from  her  silent  lady. 

"Eose!"  The  tone  was  impatient  and  im- 
perative. 

**Yes,  Mis'  Kate,"  and  the  mulatto  was  in- 
stantly on  her  feet. 

''  Did  you  ask  the  housekeeper  for  those  keys 
you  brought  r' 

"JSTo,  Mis'  Kate,  'cause  she  didn't  know  no- 
thin'  about  'em.  When  I  picked  up  Marse 
Cap'n's  coat  this  mornin'— the  travellin' -coat 
he  had  on  yestedday— a  bunch  o'  keys  jingled 
in  the  pocket.  So  when  the  housekeeper  said 
he  alius  kept  his  own  keys  I  was  sho'  the 
ones  in  the  pocket  was  the  ones  you  wanted." 

''Did  she  know  you  had  them?  Do  any  of 
the  servants  know  we  are  hereT' 


SAQAR.  81 

''ISTo,  Mis'  Kate,  none  of  'em.  That  rascal 
of  Marse  Cap'n's  lef  the  place  this  mornin'  at 
daylight,  and  the  maids  is  up-stairs  a-helpin' 
the  housekeeper  with  all  them  rooms  as  was 
locked  nx).  She's  a-get tin'  out  the  linen  an' 
a-uncoverin'  the  things,  an'  they's  a-sweepin' 
an'  a-fixin'  an'  a-dustin'  fur  you  to  see.  She 
didn't  know  nuthin'  'bout  what  I  went  to  yo' 
rooms  after.  I  did  think,  when  I  met  her 
up  in  the  passage,  I'd  show  them  keys  to  her 
jus'  to  pay  her  for  her  imperence  'bout  Marse 
Cap'n  alius  a-keepin'  the  keys  of  his  i^rivate 
rooms  ;  but  then  she  asked  me,  mighty  polite- 
like,  'to  please  get  you  to  wait.  Mis'  Kate, 
and  not  to  see  the  rooms  up  stairs  till  they 
was  in  order,  fur  she  hadn't  had  a  minute 
sooner  to  'range  'em,  'cause  she  didn't  know 
till  yestedday  mornin'  you  had  got  back  to  dis 
country  and  was  a- com  in'  here  las'  night.  An' 
she  had  been  busy  all  day  yestedday  gettin' 
your  rooms  ready— the  rooms  Marse  Cap'n  had 
writ  from  Englan'  to  have  ready.'  " 

''You  are  sure  she  did  not  see  the  keys?" 
"]^o,   Mis'  Kate,   I'm  sho'  she  don't  know  I 
found  the  keys."     And  Rose,    who  had    kept 
them  in  her  hand  after  locking  the  bed-room 


82  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

door,  held  them  up  to  show  her  mistress. 
**  She  couldn't  see  'em,  fur  they  was  in  my 
pocket ;  she  was  a-fixin'  things  gen'  ally,  and 
not  studyin'  'bout  me.  She  thinks  you'se  in 
the  libr'y.  Mis'  Kate,  and  slie  won't  come  thar 
if  you  don't  ring." 

'^Fasten  the  windows  and  then  lock  up  the 
rooms.  Put  the  keys  where  you  got  them. 
You  should  not  have  taken  them." 

The  maid  looked  wonderingly  after  her  mis- 
tress ;  she  had  never  before  been  rebuked  for 
obedience  to  the  least  caprice,  the  slightest  ex- 
pression of  a  wish  of  the  proud  and  wilful 
lady  who  was  wallung  rapidly  down  through 
the  vine- covered  arbor,  and  who  stopped  to 
open  the  latticed  gate  as  Rose  closed  the  win- 
dows and  doors  and  went  into  the  library.  The 
mulatto  locked  the  door  behind  her,  put  the 
keys  into  her  pocket,  drew  the  curtains  to- 
gether that  hid  the  door,  and,  stooping  to  ar- 
range a  refractory  fold,  found  it  caught  in  a 
broken  link  of  the  chain  of  a  small  leather 
satchel  or  portemonnaie.  She  walked  with  it 
to  the  window.  As  she  opened  it  and  leisure- 
ly examined  the  contents  her  reflections  shaped 
themselves  into  words  ; 


HAQAR.  83 

"I  am  a-findin'  things  fnr  sho'.  Fust  place, 
Lucy,  what  I  ain't  seen  befo'  since  Mis'  Margaret 
Cart' ret  got  married.  Then  them  keys.  Then 
that  picture  o'  Lucy,  what  upsot  Mis'  Kate  worse 
'an  that  rascal  of  Marse  Cap'n's  upsot  me  this 
morn'  when  he  tole  me  I  had  done  seen  the  spirit 
of  Marse  Cap'n's  aunt,  what  walked  constant 
in  this  part  of  the  house.  Now  I  know  that 
rascal  was  jus'  a-lyin'  like  he  alius  does,  an'  I 
am  glad  I  didn't  tell  him  who  I  thought  the 
ghost  look  like.  He  thinks  I  dun  know  no- 
thin'  'bout  Lucy,  an'  that  I  ain't  found  out  that 
Marse  Cap'n's  jus'  as  big  a  rascal  as  he  is.  Two 
of  the  devil's  servants  in  this  house,  an'  bofe  of 
'em  sot  agin  me  and  Mis'  Kate.  ISTo  use  of  Mis' 
Kate  tryin'  to  do  nothin'.  She  just  got  to  put 
up  with  that  head  devil,  'cep  Marse  Tom  finds  out 
the  way  he  do.  But  Mis'  Kate  she's  too  proud 
to  tell  what  a  mess  she's  made  of  marry  in',  an' 
I  dun  know  what  to  do  with  this  here  thing  now 
Tse  found  it.  I  know  it  must  a-been  Lucy's,  an' 
I  don't  want  to  leave  it  here  for  them  rascals  to 
get  it,  or  may  be  some  of  the  servants  as  would 
keep  it ;  an'  I  don't  know  wliar  to  find  Lucy  ; 
an'  I  can't  give  it  to  Mis'  Kate— she  might  tell 
me  like  she  did  'bout  the  keys.     But,  gracious 


84  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Marster  in  heaven  !  yonder  is  Mis'  Kate  bare- 
headed in  the  sun;  she's  whiter 'an  a  sheet.  I 
know  what  that  means.  It  means  the  Cart' ret 
blood  is  up  for  sho'." 


CHAPTER  YIII. 


"  LoTo  is  not  loYe 
Wliicli  alters  Tvhen  it  alteration  finds.' 


THE  shadows  were  lengthening  and  deepening 
in  Broadway.  The  red  sun,  sinking  into  a 
bed  of  purple  and  gold,  set  all  the  windows 
of  the  city  aflame  as  the  slanting  yellow  rays 
caught  new  color  from  the  rosy  clouds  and  the 
tinted  air.  It  was  the  hour  and  the  light  which 
give  grace  and  tenderness  to  architecture  ;  which 
brings  into  a  softened  relief  every  fluted  column, 
every  tapering  spire,  all  the  beauty  of  pointed 
mansards  and  curving  arches.  It  is  the  fairy 
hour  of  transformation,  that  works  a  magic  spell 
in  giving  to  sight  the  beautiful  in  cities — the  hour 
which  curtains  with  its  own  loveliness  the  ugli- 
ness and  uniform  deformity  of  the  bro^^oi  blocks 
and  solid  squares.  It  is  not  so  true  as  the  dawn. 
It  does  not  lift  the  sharp  outlines  heavenward  to 
meet  the  coming  light,  but  it  gives  to  the  crowd- 
ed haunts  of  men  the  charm  that  moonlight  gives 


86  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

the  shadowy  glade.  It  is  not  the  hour  of  the 
sun-worshipper,  but  of  the  earth -lover.  The  early 
morning,  the  ui^rising  sun,  brings  to  man  the 
sense  of  a  freshening  of  being,  of  the  coming 
of  a  divinity ;  the  evening  curtains  space  and 
shuts  him  in  the  mystic  twilight  with  magnified 
shadows. 

A  carriage  stopped  at  the  private  entrance  of 
the  New  York  Hotel.  It  had  two  occupants — 
Mrs.  Hartley  and  her  maid.  The  lady  threw 
open  the  door,  sprang  to  the  sidewalk,  and  was 
in  the  hallway  questioning  a  clerk  before  Rpse 
had  gathered  together  her  parcels. 

'*  Is  Judge  Cartaret  here  ? !.' 

^' Yes,  madam  ;  he  arrived  this  morning  with 
Mrs.  Cartaret.  I  think  the  judge  drove  out  this 
afternoon  with  a  friend  who  called  for  him,  but  I 
wiU  send  to  see  if  Mrs.  Cartaret  is  in." 

''No,  do  not  send.  Can  you  give  me  rooms 
for  myself  and  maid  Avithout  delay  ?  I  wish  to 
go  to  my  room  immediately.  When  Judge  Car- 
taret returns  let  me  know  at  once.'' 

The  clerk  hesitated  an  instant,  then  with  a 
quick,  judicial  glance  at  the  proud,  cold  face  of 
his  interlocutor  and  anotlier  at  tlie  respectable 


HAGAR.  87 

Rose,  who  entered  with  her  collected  parcels,  fol- 
lowed by  a  porter  with  the  luggage,  which  he 
saw  was  marked  ^'Cartaret,"  he  grew  smilingly 
suave  and  acquiescent. 

"Certainly,  madam.  We  have  a  very  com- 
fortable, cool  corner  suite  on  the  third  floor  im- 
mediately above  Judge  Cartaret's.  I  will  get  the 
keys  and  send  up  the  luggage.  I  will  speak  to 
Judge  Cartaret  the  moment  he  returns.  Who 
shall  I  say  wishes  to  see  him?" 

"His  daughter." 

As  he  left  to  get  the  keys  Rose  said  in  a  se- 
pulchral tone,  as  if  half  in  fear  of  speech  and 
half  afraid  of  what  she  was  about  to  say:  "I 
think,  Mis'  Kate,  Marse  Cap' n's  here.  I  saw  that 
rascal  o'  his'n  stop  that  driver  that  brung  us 
from  the  railroad  jus'  now  at  the  corner  thar.  He 
thought  I'd  done  come  in,  but  I  hadn't  ;  I  was 
a-pickin'  up  this  shawl  I  had  let  drop." 

"Very  well.     It  does  not  matter." 

The  proud  face  was  unruffled  and  the  stately 
step  was  slow  and  deliberate  as  they  crossed  the 
hall  and  followed  the  carrier  of  the  keys  up  the 
stairs. 

A  few  moments  later  a  small,  slender,  dark- 
visaged  man  (the  personage  Rose  designates  as 


88  TEE  MODERN  HAOAR, 

*Hliat  rascal  of  Marse  Cap'n's")  knocked  at 
the  door  of  a  room  on  the  second  floor  immedi- 
ately beneath  Mrs.  Hartley's. 

"Come  in,"  in  a  sbarx^,  rasx)ing  tone.  The 
man  opened  the  door,  but  did  not  enter.  The 
same  voice  called  more  peremptorily,  ' '  What  is 
it,  Marten?" 

'^  I  wish  to  speak  with  yon  a  minute,  sir." 
''  Then  come  in  and  shut  the  door." 
The  man  obeyed,  and  stood  waiting,  looking 
with  ill-concealed  embarrassment  from  his  master 
to  a  lady  who,  seated  in  a  low  easy-chair,  was 
fanning  herself  violently.  It  Avould  have  been 
evident  to  a  less  acute  perceiDtion  than  that  of  the 
saturnine  Leperello  that  he  had  interrupted  a 
stormy  discussion.  His  master  gave  him  little 
time  for  observation  or  reflection. 

"  What  is  so  imj)ortant  that  you  come  to  my 
sister's  room  to  find  me  ?" 
There  was  a  moment  longer  of  silence. 
"  What  is  it,  I  say  ?     Are  you  dumb  ?  '' 
*'I  have  something  to  tell  you,  sir." 
"Well,  tell  it.     If  you  are  such  an  idiot  that 
you  came  here  for  a  mere  nothing,  leave  the  room 
at  once."  ^ 

"I  did  not  think,  sir"— he  glanced  hesitat- 


HAQAB.  89 

ingly  at  the  lady— "  I  tliouglit  possibly  you 
would  come,  sir" — a  lialf -muttered  oath  inter- 
rupted him,  but  Captain  Hartley  controlled  his 
temper  sufficiently  to  leave  that  sentence  unfin- 
ished, and  added  : 

^'  If  it  is  the  Oakhill  affair  tell  all  you  know. 
My  sister  has  heard  of  this  idiotic  blunder  of  the 
housekeeper's  in  letting  Lucy  stay  there." 

''Mrs.  Hartley  is  here,  sir— in  the  hotel— her 
maid  is  with  her.  They  came  on  the  train  that 
leaves  Yonkers  at  five  o'clock.  She  is  registered 
'Miss  Cartaret,'  and  a  message  is  wiitten  at  the 
office  for  her  father  to  come  to  her  as  soon  as  he 
returns." 

"What  room  has  she?"  The  question  came 
through  half-shut  lips  that  were  white  with  anger. 

"  The  one  immediately  over  this,  su\" 

Captain  Hartley  started  toward  the  door,  when 
his  sister  sprang  up  and  caught  his  arm,  saying 
to  Marten,  in  a  tone  which  exacted  and  received 
instant  obedience  :  "Go  into  the  hall  and  close 
the  door.  Do  not  let  any  one  come  in,  but  wait 
there  until  you  are  called."  When  the  door 
closed  she  turned  to  her  brother,  letting  go  his 
arm  as  she  said  : 

"You  are  about  to  do  a  very  foolish  thing. 


90  THE  MODERX  IIAGAR. 

Kate  is  jnstly  incensed  at  tlie  presence  of  that 
woman  and  her  chikl  at  Oakhill.  No  doubt  the 
poor  girl  thinks  she  has  found  the  cause  of  your 
indifference  to  her,  your  brutality ;  you  need 
not  frown  or  sneer  at  me.  I  have  neither  re- 
spect for  you  nor  fear  of  you.  I  know  you  too 
thoroughly—  " 

He  interrupted  her  with  ''We  know. each 
other  too  thoroughly." 

"  ISTo,  you  are  not  so  wise  as  you  think  ;  there 
is  in  my  comi30sition  a  little  leaven  of  honesty, 
of  feeling,  utterly  lacking  in  you,  that  at  times 
forces  me  to  side  with  the  right.  True,  I  helped 
you  win  Kate.  I  used  my  influence  with  her 
father  and  gained  his  reluctant  consent  to  your 
marriage.  Utterly  false  as  I  knew  you  to  be, 
you  succeeded  in  deceiving  me  into  the  belief 
that  you  loved  her.  But  for  that  I  would  have 
refused.  Yes,  you  may  smile  at  my  stupidity. 
I  deserve  ev.en  your  contempt  for  believing  an 
unscrupulous  sensualist  could  love  a  pure  and 
honorable  woman." 

*' Forgive  me,  madam,  that  I. have  heretofore 
underrated  your  sense  of  honor,  j^our  very  dis- 
interested affection  for  your  stepdaughter,  your 
devotion  to  your  husband." 


HAGAR.  91 

Tone  and  words  had  the  effect  intended.  He 
put  his  sister  in  a  rage  and  on  the  defensive,  and 
thus  won  double  advantage  in  the  quarrel  he 
forced.  From  this  moment  he  kept  his  temper 
while  inflaming  hers.  He  skilfully  avoided  re- 
crimination or  discussion  of  himself  by  adroit 
assent  to  her  charges,  and  still  more  adroit  ques- 
tioning, which  goaded  her  into  a  fury  that  finally 
quelled  anger  by  its  very  vehemence.  Then  with 
seeming  frankness — the  man  was  a  born  actor 
and  only  through  perverseness  or  carelessness 
ever  forgot  his  role — he  laughed  aloud  as  the 
storm  stilled,  caught  and  kissed  his  sister's 
hands,  exclaiming : 

^'A  truce,  a  truce,  sister!  and  I  will  jDromise 
to  sign  any  articles  of  agreement  you  present. 
Make  your  own  terms.  You  commenced  by 
warning  me  against  a  folly.  Now  I  am  quite 
ready  to  be  wise  or  to  profit  by  your  wisdom. 
What  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  say,  and  to  whom 
and  how  shall  I  say  it  ? " 

In  the  beginning  of  the  conversation  Mrs.  Car- 
taret  had  drawn  her  brother  away  from  the  door, 
distrusting  what  she  knew  of  the  keen  sense  of 
hearing  possessed  by  the  ubiquitous  Marten. 
Thus  it  happened  they  were  near  an  open'  win- 


92  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

dow,  directly  under  another  upon  which  a  tear- 
ful, hot  face  was  lying  hidden  in  slender  hands. 

The  noise  of  Broadway,  in  silencing  all  lesser 
sound,  left  the  young  wife  free  to  sob  out  her  grief 
in  the  profound  isolation  of  that  constant  roar 
which  helps  to  make  the  loneliness  of  cities.  She 
had  fled  to  Sanctuary  and  found  it  in  this  soli- 
tary room,  from  which  she  had  barred  out  even 
the  faithful  Rose.  A  lull  in  the  stream  in  the 
street,  a  pause  in  the  tide,  whose  evening  flood 
was  about  to  ebb,  let  the  voices  come  upward 
from  the  window  beneath  Mrs.  Hartley's.  At 
the  first  sound  she  started,  and  then  let  her 
head  droop  again  on  the  folded  hands  until  her 
husband's  laugh  struck  her  like  a  blow.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  tremblingly  closed  the 
window  as  if  shutting  out  an  actual  and  evil 
presence  ;  then,  throwing  herself  upon  the  bed, 
sobbed  herself  to  sleep  as  woiild  a  tired  and 
grieved  child. 

An  hour  later  a  steady  knocking  at  the  door 
awakened  her.  A  voice  she  knew  was  her  step- 
mother'-s  was  calling,  ^ '  Kate  !  Kate !  I  wish  to 
see  you.     I  must  speak  with  you  at  once." 

She  tried  to  resist  this  assault,  to  defend  her 
solitude  by  silence  ;  but  the  continued  knocking 


HAG  AH.  93 

and  the  varied  tones  of  entreaty  and  persuasion 
compelled  consent.  She  bathed  her  flushed  and 
tear-stained  face  and  opened  the  door. 

At  the  outposts  Mrs.  Cartaret  had  an  easy  vic- 
tory ;  for  a  moment  after  her  entrance  the  girl 
was  lying  unresistant  in  her  arms,  telling  in  gasp- 
ing, broken  sobs  the  story  of  her  sorrows.  She 
had  no  distrust  of  her  stepmother — she  was  too 
loyal,  too  true  to  doubt  her  father's  wife.  Mrs. 
Cartaret  had  been  uniformly  kind ;  careless 
but  complaisant.  She  had  not  interfered  with 
the  expressed  or  implied  wishes  of  either  of 
Judge  Cartaret' s  children,  except  as  a  playful 
and  gracious  ally  when  their  father' s  indulgence 
was  difficult  to  win.  Kate  had  not  seen  how  en- 
tirely she  was  led  by  her  stepmother  in  her  mar- 
riage. In  fact,  Mrs.  Cartaret  had  rather  earnestly 
warned  the  girl  against  her  brother  as  a  suitor, 
but,  curiously  enough,  the  warning  had  served 
to  strengthen  a  wavering  fancy.  Her  stepmo- 
ther had  urged  :  ''  My  brother  is  so  much,  your 
senior,  the  match  is  so  unequal ;  in  fact,  I  am 
rather  astonished  at  this  absorbing  passion  of 
his.  I  had  fancied  he  was  past  the  glamour  of 
maidens'  glances.  1  thought  he  had  lost  his  il- 
lusions, was  a  disenchanted,  world-weary  man, 


94  THE  MODERN  RAGAR. 

who  Avould  finish  his  life  as  he  had  lived  its 
morning — alone.  I  did  not  think  he  would  set 
his  all  upon  the  desperate  chance  of  winning 
you." 

And  then  the  soft  hands  caressingly  smoothed 
the  girl's  dusky  locks,  and  rich,  full  lips  kissed 
her  and  called  her  "sister."  Thus  the  faith  of 
womanhood  w^as  belied  by  half  lies  and  pervert- 
ed truths,  by  falsehood  which  was  cowardly 
and  cruel.  For  this  was  a  wanton  wrecking  of 
the  divine  in  woman  by  the  treason  of  woman — 
a  denial  of  sex,  a  wilful  iDerversion  of  the  faith 
enshrined  in  the  ark  of  motherhood. 

To  go  back  to  the  beginning  of  the  last  para- 
graph. The  outposts  were  taken,  but  there  Mrs. 
Cartaret'  s  victory  rested.  She  had  captured  con- 
fidence, but  she  could  not  dislodge  the  forces 
which  had  taken  the  fortress.  The  false  Love 
who  had  blindfolded  the  girl's  fancy  had  loosed 
his  bandage  and  deserted.  Contempt  and  ha- 
tred had  followed  violence  and  brutality,  and 
crept  into  the  empty  citadel.  Mrs.  Cartaret's 
persuasive  words  fell  fruitless  of  result  when 
she  pleaded  for  forgiveness  and  reconciliation. 

The  girl  had  borne  her  minor  trials  nobly. 
She  had  offered  neither  reproach  nor  resistance 


HAOAR.  95 

to  tyranny  and  scorn.  She  had  never  even 
thonglit  of  rei^risal.  She  had  accepted  the  im- 
happiness  of  her  new  life  as  an  unexpected  ac- 
cident of  marriage,  as  something  painful  for 
which  she  could  not  blame  herself,  nor  yet  al- 
together any  one  else.  Unconsciously  she  had 
blasphemed  both  love  and  marriage  by  gene- 
ralizing her  wretchedness.  Her  innocence  and 
inexperience  aided  in  her  self-deception.  She 
confounded  Eros  mth  Anteros,  and  saw  only 
a  deity  of  the  nether  world. 

Mrs.  Hartley  was  not  merely  angry  with  her 
husband.  The  pity  of  it  was  that  she  was  not 
angry  with  him ;  for  had  she  loved  him  truly 
she  would  have  been  angry  at  Love's  defection. 
But  now  for  her  husband  she  had  only  con- 
tempt, while  the  knowledge  of  Love's  lesion 
which  had  come  to  her  made  her  almost  loathe 
herself. 

The  last  refuge  of  self-respect  was  contempt 
for  the  m.an  who  had  led  her  into  this  cave  of 
horrors.  Then,  as  she  saw  no  visible  outlet  in 
the  future,  no  w^ay  of  escape  without  dragging 
her  pride  through  the  dirt  of  public  scandal,  to 
contempt  w^as  added  hatred. 

Late  that  night  Mrs.   Cartaret  left  her  bro- 


9G  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

tiler's  wife.  The  self-appointed  ambassadress 
had  failed  except  in  two  points  :  on  certain  con- 
ditions the  young  wife  would  return  to  Oak- 
hill.  This  was  a  concession  to  opposite  influ- 
ences— to  fear  of  the  world  and  to  affection, 
Kate  had  been  brought  up  to  reverence  con- 
ventionalities. She  had  given  a  very  sincere 
friendship  and  affection  to  her  father's  wife. 
Her  father's  wife  was  her  husband's  sister. 
The  doubled  influence  won  a  truce. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

*'  NeTer  on  this  side  of  the  grave  again, 
On  this  side  of  the  river, 
On  this  side  of  the  gamer  of  the  grain, 
Never ! " 

THERE  were  guests  at  Oakliill  through  the  en- 
tire summer  and  fall — relatives  or  friends 
of  the  Cartarets,  mostly  Virginians,  but 
there  was  a  leaven  of  the  extreme  South.  An 
occasional  Creole  from  New  Orleans  or  Mobile 
— three  or  four  of  those  exceptionally  beautiful 
women,  those  exquisite  flowers  of  race  and  cli- 
mate, those  wonderful  Latin  and  Saxon  hy- 
brids— but,  pshaw  !  I  shall  not  try  to  do  in 
pen  and  ink  roughly  the  j)ortraits  that  Cable 
has  painted.  But  there  were  others,  unique 
specimens,  that  as  yet  Cable  has  not — hybrids 
of  curious  quality,  where  strength  and  endu- 
rance mingle  Avith  strength  and  fire ;  Carolin- 
ians, compounds  of  French  Huguenots  and 
Scotch  Highlanders  ;  Kentuckians,  enlarged  by 
the  boiling  fusion  of  Saxon  and  Celt  ;  Georgians 

97 


98  TUE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

that  have  brought  a  queer  tinge  of  Oglethorpe's 
queer  colony  into  their  latest  graftings. 

The  maiTiage  of  Judge  Cartaret's  daughter  to 
Captain  Hartley,  the  New  York  millionaire  (in 
1850  a  millionaire  was  a  more  infrequent  corus- 
cation in  society  than  a  tripled  sextuple  mil- 
lionaire is  in  the  reign  of  King  Arthur),  was  an 
event  that  had  gathered  together  the  Southern 
clans.  Those  old  slave-holding  Virginian  Lords 
Paramount,  that  untitled  peerage  whose  oral  his- 
tory was  as  real  as  if  it  had  been  chronicled  in 
Debrett,  were  at  Bellevue  in  full  force  at  the 
time  of  the  wedding  ;  and  they  were  now  well  re- 
presented at  Oakhill,  to  give  the  bride  a  welcome 
back  from  her  wedding  journey  in  Europe.  The 
Cartarets  dated  from  the  earliest  colonial  days — 
from  the  period  when  a  few  powerful  families 
divided  the  State  into  districts  which  were  mere 
appanages  of  a  strong  aristocracy.  They  Avere 
connected,  through  the  intermarriages  of  over  a 
century,  with  nearly  all  of  the  principal  fami- 
lies. 

Leadership  in  the  State  during  her  semi-feu- 
dal system  was  almost  a  thing  of  heritage.  Cer- 
tain families  had  a  tacitly  recognized  supremacy 
in  the  direction  of  public  affairs  and  a  very  pro- 


IIAGAR.  99 

nounced  influence  in  society.  They  were  tlie 
desiDots  of  political  conventions,  almost  tlie  ar- 
biters of  law  and  tlionglit.  They  formed  an 
oligarchy  which  was  also  an  autocracy.  To 
belong  to  it  was  a  privilege  of  caste,  not  a  re- 
ward of  merit.  The  self-made  man  who  forced 
himself  into  their  number  had  an  involuntary 
and  instinctive  feeling  that  he  was  there  only 
upon  sufferance.  In  fact,  he  not  only  fought 
his  way  thither,  but  he  was  forced  to  wage  a 
continual  conflict  to  keep  the  position  he  had 
conquered. 

It  was  this  state  of  society  with  its  arrogant 
rule,  this  democratic  aristocracy  built  upon  a 
corner-stone  of  slavery,  v/here  rank  was  marked 
by  the  number  of  negroes  and  the  breadth  of 
acres,  that  sent  the  Jacksons  to  Tennessee  and 
drove  Henry  Clay  to  Kentucky.  The  son  of  a 
petty  farmer,  the  near  relative  of  a  recusant 
Baptist  preacher,  could  not  rise  in  the  Old  Do- 
minion to  a  plane  of  equality  with  politicians 
who  Illumed  themselves  upon  their  Jeffersonian 
principles.  Yet  (strange  contradiction  !)  these 
same  dominative,  aggressive,  self-assertive  in- 
solents,  who  presumed  uj)on  a  few  prosperous 
decades,  were  the  same  big-hearted,  free-handed 


100  IRE  MODERN  HAGAR, 

democrats  who  gave  the  vast  extent  of  the  North- 
west to  the  general  government  on  the  one  con- 
dition that  it  should  be  free  territory !  Some 
of  these  Virginians  had  higher  patents  of  no- 
bility, bettei*  title  to  consideration,  to  respect, 
than  numerous  slaves  and  broad  acres.  Nota- 
ble among  such  stood  the  Cartarets.  First,  they 
were  a  historic  race.  (I  wish  here  to  enter  my 
protest  against  that  sham  sentiment  of  a  false 
republicanism  which  discredits  the  honorable 
records  of  a  brave  and  honest  family.  It  is  a 
puerility  to  undervalue  blood  in  the  human  ani- 
mal when  we  know  that  in  daily  transactions 
where  other  animals  are  on  sale  it  has  a  high- 
priced  and  very  marketable  value.  Because 
thousands  of  mushrooms  have  upsprung  in  a 
land  first  parched  by  war  and  then  watered  by 
prosperity  I  do  not  choose  to  join  the  common 
crowd  in  its  genuflections  before  the  mushrooms. 
I  hate  the  snobbery  that  turns  its  back  upon  its 
obligations  to  principles  and  qualities  long  in- 
carnate in  some  proudly  honest  or  honorable 
family,  to  bend  before  the  loutish  i)ossessor  of 
the  filthy  gatherings  of  greed.) 

The  Cartarets  were  part  and  parcel  of  the  his- 
tory of  England.     They  had  served  in  field  and 


HAGAR.  iQi 


cabinet.    Tliey  had  earned  an  unstained  name 
throngh   centuries  of   trial.      One   of  tlieir  no- 
blest representatives  fought  with  Prince  Eupert, 
and  afterwards  lost  life  and  lands  in  an  unsuc- 
cessful 'effort  to   save  King  Charles   the  First. 
His  oldest  son  shared  the  ill-fortunes  of  Charles 
the  Second,  but  immediately  after  the  Restora. 
tion  retired  from  court  to  repair  his  fortune  by 
close  economy  and  diligent  care  of  his  impover- 
ished estate.     The  second  son,  Thomas  Cartaret, 
the  first  of  a  succession   of  Thomas  Cartarets 
which  lasted  through  a  century  and  a  half  in 
Virginia,  had  run  away  to  the  plantations  with 
the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  bitter  haters  of 
the  "Cavaliers"  in  that  body  of  bitter  haters— 
the  Long  Parliament.      A  large  grant  of  land 
from  Charles  the  Second,  just  after  the  Restora- 
tion, established  the  first  Virginian  Cartaret  as  a 
magnate  in  the  land.     Adherents  of  the  Stuarts, 
the  Cartarets  detested  the  house  of  Hanover  and 
were  ready  to  take   arms  when  the  cry  of  re- 
volt raised  by  Massachusetts  reached  Virginia. 
The   day  after   Cornwallis's   surrender  they  re- 
turned to  their  plantations  on  the  James  River, 
where  they  led  the  quietly  useful  lives  of  coun- 
try gentlemen,  diversified  by  occasional  winters 


102  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

in  Richmond  and  Washington.  Judge  Cartaret 
was  the  first  barrister  and  jurist  in  the  family. 
His  first  wife,  the  mother  of  Mrs.  Hartley,  was 
a  JS'ew  Orleans  Creole  of  Spanish  extraction ; 
the  second  was  a  beautiful  and  childless  widow, 
the  Mrs.  Cartaret  I  have  already  presented  to 
you.  She  met  the  handsome,  wealthy  South- 
erner in  New  York  in  January  of  1844,  and 
married  him  in  the  following  March.  At  the 
time  of  Judge  Cartaret' s  marriage  to  Mrs.  Hil- 
ton, Captain  Hartley  was  in  the  army.  But  in 
the  April  after  his  sister's  marriage  he  resigned, 
having  inherited  a  great-uncle's  estate.  It  was 
a  fortune  of  which  the  Hartleys  had  despaired. 
But  a  sudden  and  terrible  loss,  and  change  of 
humor  in  a  jpetulant  old  man,  disapiDointed  ex- 
pectant heirs  and  brought  to  the  Hartleys  that 
unexpected  which  is  so  constantly  happening. 
We  now  return  to  the  i^oint  at  which  this 
chapter  began.  Captain  Hartley  was  absent 
from  Oakhill  during  the  summer  and  early  fall. 
*' There  were  unsettled  affairs  of  his  inheritance 
that  had  suffered  during  his  absence  in  Euroi:)e." 
That  was  the  explanation  given  to  Judge  Car- 
taret, whom  he  met  at  the  New  York  Hotel,  on 
the  morning  after  the  events  described  in  the  last 


HA  GAB.  103 

chapter,  when  the  judge  returned  from  a  night's 
visit  to  a  friend  on  Long  Island. 

Another  explanation  was  volunteered:  ^'My 
sister  and  Kate  left  for  Oakhill  this  morning. 
It  is  so  hot  in  town  that  I  begged  them  not  to 
wait  to  see  me  off.  I  go  immediately  West— pos- 
sibly as  far  as  Santa  Fe.  There  are  some  mat- 
ters that  I  can  arrange  more  readily  than  any 
agent  I  could  send  to  Xew  Mexico.  Of  course  it 
is  a  disagreeable  thing  to  have  to  go  just  as  we 
expect  the  friends  who  promised  to  visit  us  on 
our  return.  But  I  trusted  to  your  kindness.  I 
hope  you  and  my  sister  will  stay  with  Kate.  I 
beg  of  you  to  act  as  host  in  my  absence.  Of 
course  I  shall  return  as  soon  as  I  can  get  through 
with  these  troublesome  details."  The  explana- 
tion was  accepted  in  good  faith  by  the  unsuspi- 
cious gentleman  to  whom  it  was  made.  A  slight 
uneasiness  excited  by  his  daughter's  changed 
appearance  was  just  as  easily  explained  away 
by  his  \\dfe  :  ''Kate  is  looking  badly— of  course 
we  must  expect  that— but  she  has  an  excellent 
constitution.  I  have  no  fears  about  her;  the 
only  trouble  is,  she  is  rather  inclined  to  be  de- 
spondent, but  that  is  a  mere  physical  trouble. 
When  the  house  is  full  of  young  people  you  will 


104  THE  MODERX  HAGAR. 

see  an  improvement."  And  Kate  verified  the 
prediction.  The  proud  girl  hid  her  wound  from 
the  world. 

The  two  conditions  made  to  ensure  Kate's  re- 
turn to  Oakhill  liad  been  faithfully  observed  by 
Captain  Hartley  and  his  sister.  The  'occui)ants  of 
the  little  cottage  hidden  in  the  wood  beyond  the 
latticed  gate  had  left  tlie  neighborhood  of  Oak- 
hill  ;  and  Captain  Hartley  did  not  return  until 
late  in  the  fall,  after  all  the  guests,  except  Judge 
and  Mrs.  Cartaret,  were  gone.  They  stayed  to 
welcome  the  expected  heir. 

I14  the  last  days  of  N'oveinber  the  heir  had 
come  and  gone,  happy  in  that  early  release,  in 
that  escape  from  the  torture  of  living  a  life 
which  had  been  jDoisoned  in  its  beginning.  The 
blight  never  unfolded ;  it  was  only  disclosed  in 
the  falling  of  the  bud.  A  chain  of  evil  that 
might  have  warjDed  souls  for  a  century — "unto 
the  third  and  fourth  generation" — was  broken 
in  the  welding. 

For  a  few  hours  a  quivering  little  frame  had 
lain  beside  an  anguished  mother,  who  clung  stub- 
bornly to  that  frail  tenement  of  a  human  soul. 
"  Born  with  an  affection  of  the  heart"  was  the 
interpretation  of  science. 


HAGAR,  105 

The  faint  sound  of  qnick  breathing,  the  throb- 
bing of  a  heart  that  fluttered  like  an  imprisoned 
bird,  a  waxen  baby-face  and  half-opened  violet 
eyes,  were  the  memories  gathered  by  the  young 
mother  before  she  sank  into  insensibility ;  and 
the  dead  child  was  taken  from  her  breast — was 
mercifully  let  sleep. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  And  the  Future  vrith  the  Past  is  set  at  rariance ; 
And  Life  falters  Arith  the  burdens  which  it  has." 

O'N  tlie  morning  of  Mrs.  Hartley' s  first  appear- 
ance in  the  breakfast-room  after  her  illness, 
her  fathers  congratulations  upon  her  re- 
covery were  qnickly  followed  by  the  announce- 
ment of  his  purpose  to  leave  Oakhill  on  the 
next  day. 

In  the  manner  of  the  announcement  there  was 
more  of  hesitation  than  of  regret — scarcely  an 
aiDpearance  of  sadness,  but  a  visible  effort  not  to 
give  offence  in  the  telling.  Even  to  Judge  Car- 
taret,  unsusx)icious  as  he  was,  it  was  evident 
that  there  was  a  hidden  skeleton  in  the  house. 
During  her  illness  his  daughter  had  not  always 
been  able  to  hide  the  shuddering  repulsion  she 
felt  for  her  husband. 

The  judge's  mind  worked  slowly,  but  he  had 
one  very  judicial  faculty — clearness  in  the  sum- 
ming up  of  evidence.     Without  being  altogether 

IOC 


HAG  AH.  .  iQf^ 

conscious,  in  the  beginning,  of  tlie  mental  pro- 
cess involved,  lie  had  been 'collecting  and  collat- 
ing facts  ever  since  his  coming  to  Oakhill.  All 
of  his  wife's  dii^lomatic  skill  had  failed  to  blind 
him.  His  liking  for  Captain  Hartley  had  been, 
from  the  first  moment  of  their  meeting,  more  a 
thing  of  courtesy  to  his  wife  than  of  reality  ; 
and,  as  the  proverb  puts  it  pithily,  the  more  he 
saw  of  him  the  less  he  liked  him.  In  fact,  there 
was  a  rai^idly  growing  dislike,  which  of  itself 
was  a  thing  of  terror  to  an  amiable  convention- 
alist. 

In  the  thick  of  doubts  the  only  positive  impres- 
sion made  upon  Judge  Cartaret's  mind  was  fear 
of  the  result  if  he  should  stay  longer  at  Oakhill. 
If  Kate  continued  to  follow  him  with  that  pitiful, 
wistful  look  of  entreaty  ;  if  her  eyes,  so  like  her 
mother's,  pursued  him  from  room  to  room,  he 
knew  he  must  yield  to  their  dumb  pleading.  He 
loved  his  daughter  dearly  ;  but,  unhappily,  he 
loved  the  world's  good  opinion  as  well.  Every 
fault  of  his  character  grew  out  of,  or  was  in  some 
way  allied  to,  this  conventional  coAvardice.  His 
very  virtues  were  so  tainted  by  it,  were  so  cramp- 
ed and  distorted,  that  they  had  in  a  measure  be- 
come passive  vices.      He  tried  hard  to  comfort 


108  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

himself  witli  the  thought  that  Kate's  marriage 
was  not  of  his  advising,  that  be  had  been  over- 
persuaded  by  his  wife — by  Kate  herself.  Then 
conscience  struck  home,  reminding  him  of  his 
daughter' s  youth,  of  her  ignorant  innocence ; 
telling  him  that  he  had  knoAvn  of  weighty  rea- 
sons for  objection,  which  he  had  only  to  tell  and 
the  telling  would  have  ensured  her  ready  obedi- 
ence. He  was  compelled  to  admit  to  himself,  in 
this  court  of  equity  where  he  was  trying  him- 
self, that  the  dollars  of  the  millionaire  had  out- 
weighed evidence. 

AVhen  his  false  judgment  became  clearly  ap- 
]3arent  to  him,  and  he  saw  how  it  had  wrought 
his  daughter' s  unhappiness,  conscience  reminded 
him  of  another  decision  he  had  made  when  the 
lack  of  money  had  caused  him  'to  give  judgment 
against  an  honorable  gentleman  and  gallant  sol- 
dier. He  had  used  all  the  power  his  cousin's 
will  had  given  him  to  prevent  the  marriage  of 
his  cousin's  daughter,  Margaret,  to  Leszinksky. 
He  had  stretched  his  authority  to  the  utmost 
verge.  And  although  his  ward  had  waited 
dutifully  until  she  was  legally  of  age  before 
marrying  without  his  consent,  he  had  made  the 
trials  of  her  life  lieavier  by  keeping  from  her 


HAGAR.  109 

every  dollar  the  law  let  Mm  retain.  Even  now 
since  her  death  he  had  made  no  allowance  to 
her  child  from  the  money  he  was  yearly  adding  to 
the  great  Cartaret  estate.  To  do  Judge  Cartaret 
full  justice,  I  think  he  would  have  been  glad 
to  make  bountiful  provision  for  Margaret's 
child,  Eue,  if  Major  Leszinksky  had  only  asked 
him.  But  just  then  the  great  fault  in  his  char- 
acter that  I  have  mentioned  blinded  his  sense 
of  justice.  Or,  to  define  it  more  exactly,  it  poi- 
soned his  sense  of  right.  He  would  do  nothing 
in  the  present  which  implied  an  admission  of 
wrong  in  the  past.  He  would  not  give  volun- 
tarily to  Margaret's  child  what  he  had  withheld 
from  Margaret  herself.  He  resented  Leszink- 
sky's  self -respectful  independence,  calling  it  in 
his  thoughts  "the  stubborn  folly  of  a  fool." 

But  underlying  his  thoughts,  troubling  his 
selfish  attempt  at  self-justification,  there  was  a 
sub-consciousness  of  wrong  that,  through  failure 
of  repentance,  embittered  Judge  Cartaret  against 
the  Leszinkskys.  He  wished  that  some  need, 
some  misfortune  would  force  the  proud  soldier 
to  ask  for  assistance.  Then— his  vanity  sweet- 
ened the  fancy — how  generous  he  would  be ! 
He  felt  a  glow  of  delight  at  i^e  mere  thought 


110  THE  MODERN  IIAGAR. 

of  his  own  praiseworthy  benevolence.  He  knew 
it  wonld  reap  an  abundant  harvest — win  him 
"golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  men." 

All  Virginia  knew  the  value  of  the  great  Car- 
taret  estate  ;  knew  the  provisions  of  Colonel 
Cartaret's  will,  and  that  the  estate  would  revert 
to  Judge  Cartaret's  own  son  if  one  young  life 
should  go  out.  Why,  all  Virginia  would  ring 
with  the  story  of  Judge  Cartaret's  disinterest- 
edness should  he  settle  the  Leszinkskys  at 
"the  Cedars."  And  he  would  do  it — if  Les- 
zinksky  would  only  give  him  occasion.  But 
the  Avorld  must  know  it  was  a  charity,  not  a 
tardy  amend.  He  would  be  generous,  but  gen- 
erosity must  justify  him — must  brilliantly  illu- 
minate the  probity  of  his  guardianship. 

Kate's  troubles  had  brought  about  this  settle- 
ment with  conscience  by  contingent  promises, 
but  Kate  herself  clouded  her  fathers  beatific 
vision  of  his  apotheosis.  Her  suffering  v/as  not 
one  of  the  peculiar  varieties  of  suffering  the 
world  tolerates. 

That  particular  portion  of  eartli  which,  with 
its  inhabitants,  constituted  the  world  to  Judge 
Cartaret  was  sternly  intolerant  if  a  woman  made 
any  outcry  of    discontent,  any  sound  to   shock 


HAGAR.  Ill 

tlie  ears  of  the  neophytes  who  wait  in  the  porch 
of  the  temple  of  marriage. 

It  had  from  the  earliest  colonial  days  been  a 
matter  of  pride  and  self-laiidation  to  more  than 
one 'of  the  Southern  States  that  divorces  were 
unknowm  in  their  courts  of  justice. 

The  law  of  marriage  was  a  Median  law — not  to 
be  broken.  I  do  not  know^  that  it  was  "so  nomi- 
nated in  the  bond,"  but  it  was  universally  under- 
stood that  the  disgrace  and  obloquy  of  its  frac- 
ture, if  fractured,  w^ould  reflect  upon  the  woman. 
I  do  not  assert  that  men  were  more  virtuous  or 
more  manly  through  this  prophetically  vicari- 
ous suffering  of  women,  but  it  certainly  had  a 
strengthening  effect  upon  the  warned  and  weaker 
sex.  They  learned  to  bear  their  burdens  and 
make  no  sign.  The  martyrs  were  the  leaven 
that  leavened  their  sex  with  the  purest  courage 
— endurance. 

With  an  equally  decorous  chance  for  widow- 
hood, I  doubt  if  they  w^ould  have  been  as  devot- 
ed as  Alcestis  ;  but  I  am  sure  a  Southern  woman 
would  have  thought  it  more  proper  to  have  stay- 
ed in  Hades  than  to  have  returned  thence  with 
Hercules. 

This   conventionality  was   intensified    by  the 


112  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

narrowness  of  its  channel.  The  remoteness  from 
the  reactive  ebb  and  flood  of  metropolitan 
thought  made  small  things  appear  great. 

Yet  there  was  a  certain  dignity  and  stateli- 
ness  in  the  old  plantation  life  that  gave  it  rare 
flavor.  The  gentry  were  all  akin,  and  there  was 
but  little  censorious  speech  ;  but  they  owed  cer- 
tain debts  to  their  order,  and  such  debts  were 
tlie  only  ones  that  were  frequently  mentioned 
and  never  remitted. 

Noblesse  oblige  was  reason  for  a  duel,  and  rea- 
son for  a  woman  to  suffer  mutely.  These  un- 
written laws  caused  terrible  suffering,  but  there 
was  less  scandal. 

If  a  woman  died  of  her  torture  there  was  a 
comforting  tombstone  that  catalogued  her  vir- 
tues and  epitomized  the  grief  of  the  bereaved 
widower. 

If  two  hot-brained  young  springalds  glanced 
down  the  steely-blue  barrels  of  duelling-pistols 
in  the  early  dawn,  and  one  was  left  motionless 
on  the  cool,  dewy  greensward,  why,    ' 

"  The  palpitating  fever 
Cooled  at  ouce  by  that  blood-let." 

One  had  paid  the  fool's  debt  of  honor,  and  the 
other  was  an  "honorable  man."  who  henceforth 


HAGAR.  113 

proudly  bore  tlie  mark  of  Cain.  What  matter 
if  some  trembling  woman,  sweetheart,  wife,  or 
childless  mother,  started  aghast  at  the  sight  ? 

A  society  with  such  customs  and  of  such  com- 
ponents was  the  tribunal  Judge  Cartaret  dared 
not  face  with  a  married  and  husbandless,  though 
unwidowed,  daughter  upon  his  arm.  He  knew 
what  such  championshix)  would  cost.  There  was 
his  son — only  too  ready  a  shot.  And  the  girl 
herself,  pure,  innocent,  and  blameless,  as  he 
knew  her  to  be — her  very  youth  and  beauty 
would  condemn  her  to  the  shelter  of  seclusion. 
How  could  such  a  child  stand  against  the  senti- 
ment of  her  own  sex  Avlien  the  blood  of  the  mar- 
tyrs who  had  suffered  and  submitted  to  suffer- 
ing should  cry  out  against  her  ?  Then  his  cheek 
burnt  with  wrath  at  the  thought  of  the  men  who 
would  warmly  or  coldly  look  their  pity.  xs"o  ! 
she  must  bide  under  the  shelter  of  her  husband's 
roof  with  the  sad  company  of  her  lost  love- 
dreams.  For  his  son's  sake,  for  her  sake,  he 
dare  not  assist  her  to  freedom  from  this  most 
horrible  slavery,  this  serfdom  of  the  soul,  that 
suffers  through  the  senses. 

I  do  not  wish  to  do  Judge  Cartaret  the  slight- 
est injustice.    (We  were  friends  and  neighbors  in 


114  THE  MODERN  HAG  AM. 

the  old  golden  days  before  the  flood ;  when  th^ 
carpet-bagger  had  not  yet  squeezed  the  fatness 
from  the  land  ;  before  the  siren  song  of  the  lie- 
adjuster  had  stolen  the  hearts  of  the  Stalwarts ; 
when  dollars  were  in  my  pocket  and  duns  were 
an  unknown  entity ;  when  gentlemen  were  gen- 
tlemen, and  there  seemed  no  more  probabi- 
lity of  my  being  "one  of  them  blanked  lite- 
rary fellows  "  than  that  the  utterer  of  that  apho- 
rism should  grow  to  such  gi'eatness  that  he  hath 
made  pigmies  of  us  all.)  I  repeat  that  I  am  re- 
luctant to  condemn  my  old  friend.  I  am  willing 
to  believe  that  he  did  not  know  quite  what  a 
scoundrel  his  daughter  had  married.  Hartley 
had  governed  himself,  had  kept  an  apj^earance 
of  courtesy,  almost  of  devotion,  to  his  wife,  and 
Mrs.  Cartaret  had  labored  to  screen  any  chance 
omission. 

One  thing  the  judge  did  know  (I  am  sorry  to 
have  to  admit  how  much  of  that  "rascally  vir- 
tue, prudence,^'  he  possessed  in  common  with 
another  time-serving  Virginian) — he  knew  his 
daughter's  wretchedness.  It  pained  him  to  see 
her  suffer ;  but  because  the  world  was  his  god 
he  could  not  snatch  her  from  under  its  car. 
More    selflsh,    or    less    courageous,    than    the 


HAGAR.  115 

fanatical  Hindoo,  lie  could  leave  her  to  the  fate 
whose  bloAv  he  dared  not  witness,  and  from 
which  he  dared  not  save  her. 

Unfortunately  for  Judge  Cartaret's  peace  of 
mind,  he  was  forced  into  the  one  thing  he  had 
most  earnestly  striven  to  avoid,  which  was  an 
explanation  with  his  daughter. 

When  he  announced  his  intention  to  leave 
Oakhill  Captain  Hartley  hospitably  urged  his 
stay,  "at  least  until  after  the  holidaj's  were 
past." 

Kate  said  not  a  word,  but  her  face  grew  bright 
and  expectant.  Mrs.  Cartaret  was  busy  with  let- 
ters and  papers,  leaving  her  husband  to  find  his 
own  excuses  for  repeated  refusal  to  stay.  Embar- 
rassed at  the  transparency  of  his  own  pretexts, 
and  the  appeal  in  Kate's  face  that  he  could  not 
wholly  understand.  Judge  Cartaret  pleaded  let- 
ters that  must  be  written,  and  escaped  to  his 
wife' s  sitting-room,  leaving  the  question  of  their 
immediate  departure  still  undetermined. 

Mrs.  Cartaret  crushed  her  letters  impatiently 
and  turned  to  her  brother : 

"I  wish,  Wenner,  if  you  are  not  particularly 
engaged,  you  would  look  over  some  of  these 
papers  with  me.     My  memoranda  do  not  agree 


116  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

with  tlie  accounts  of  tlie  executor.  It  is  a  point 
of  delicacy  with  Judge  Cartaret  not  to  interfere 
in  my  Hilton  settlements." 

A  smile  on  her  face  and  a  very  decided  sneer 
on  her  brother's  marked  their  valuation  of  the 
*'  point  of  delicacy."  Kate  rose  from  her  chair, 
saying  to  Mrs.  Cartaret:  ''Then  you  will  ex- 
cuse me.  You  will  find  me  in  my  room  w^hen- 
ever  you  are  at  leisure." 

"I  will  come  as  soon  as  we  get  through  witli 
these  tiresome  iDapers.  You  are  wise  in  getting 
to  your  snuggery.  This  is  the  coldest  room  in 
the  house.  I  shall  go  with  Wenner  into  his  den 
— that  is,  if  the  onmii)resent  Marten  is  not  visible 
there.     Can  we  go  ? "  addressing  her  brother. 

''  Yes.  I  presume  your  pet  aversion  has  finish- 
ed his  labor  ;   if  not,  he  will  be  glad  to  rest." 

He  opened  the  door  and  boAved  ceremoniously 
to  his  wife.  As  she  passed  slowly  up  the  broad 
stairway  the  brother  and  sister  went  through  the 
library  into  the  room  Kate  had  never  entered 
since  she  found  there  the  painting  of  Hagar. 

Through  the  summer,  when  the  house  was  full 
of  guests,  these  "private  rooms  of  Captain  Hart- 
Icy"  had  remained  closed.  It  was  tacitly  under- 
stood that  they  were  not  to  be  used  during  his 


HAGAR.  117 

absence.  When  lie  returned,  wliich  was  late  in 
the  fall  after  the  summer  visitors  were  gone, 
he  occupied  them.  The  room  next  to  Kate's, 
which  had  been  his  during  his  one  day's  stay 
at  Oakhill  immediately  after  their  return  from 
Europe,  had  been  fitted  up  as  a  nursery  for  the 
expected  heir.  After  the  child's  death,  during 
Kate's  illness,  Mrs.  Cartaret  slept  there.  So  Cap- 
tain Hartley  kept  his  old  quarters  in  the  east 
wing. 

Kate  walked  back  and  forth  through  her  dress- 
ing-room and  bed-chamber.  ISTo  one  was  there. 
Kose  had  gone,  after  beating  the  fires  to  a  dull 
red,  smouldering  mass,  from  beneath  which  an 
occasional  tongue  of  flame  hissed  forth  like  an 
angry  viper. 

The  third  room  of  the  suite  was  closed.  Kate 
opened  the  door.  The  room  prepared  for  the  lit- 
tle guest  who  would  not  stay  was  silent  and  cold. 
The  childless  young  mother  shuddered  in  this  icy 
room.  The  dead  child  had  never  entered  there  ; 
but  Death  was  there.  A  ghostly  presence  seemed 
to  clutch  at  her  robe.  She  stooped  over  the 
empty  cradle  and  smoothed  the  little  pillow  she 
had  made  with  loving  hands  for  a  baby' s  head 
which  had  never  lain  upon  it,  saying  softly  : 


118  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

**  My  baby  !  my  baby !  I  am  thankful  you 
are  safe  !  I  wish  I  were  sleeping  with  you,  my 
baby,  lying  with  your  little  head  loillowed  on  my 
heart,  out  of  this  i^ain  and  wretchedness,  this 
fear  of  sin  that  will  stain,  that  is  staining,  my 
soul.  For,  O  my  baby,  my  baby !  I  cannot, 
cannot  love  your  father.  For  your  sake  I  have 
tried,  have  striven,  but  I  cannot.  O  my  dar- 
ling !  I  cannot,*' 

Tears  fell  on  the  pillow  like  great  drops 
from  a  passing  shower — fell,  and  rolled  into  the 
meshes  of  the  dainty  lace,  freezing  where  no 
baby  head  would  ever  melt  their  ice. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

'*  Nay !  1  liave  done ;  you  get  no  more  of  me  ; 
And  1  am  glad— yea,  glad  with  all  my  heart, 
That  thus  so  clearly  I  myself  can  free." 

JUDGE  CARTARET,  in  a  liappy  state  of  self- 
gratulation,  worked  away  at  his  letters. 
He  had  made  the  first  move  toward  depar- 
ture successfully.  He  felt  almost  sure  there 
would  be  no  scene,  no  ill-bred  outbreak,  no 
disgraceful  airing  of  domestic  unpleasantness. 
There  would  be  nothing  tangible  to  take  with 
him  which  would  keep  him  awake  o'  nights  ;  no- 
thing that  would  worry  him  to  remember  except 
— well,  yes,  there  were  exceptions. 

He  said  to  himself:  "I  wish  Kate  had  more 
self-control.  People  should  hide  their  worries 
and  their  antipathies.  I  am  sure  I  hide  mine. 
It's  confoundedly  unpleasant  to  have  a  woman's 
eyes  follow  me  as  hers  do,  and  so  like  her  mother's 
they  are.  Hartley  is  a  brute  ;  but  Kate  had  her 
own  way  in  the  marriage.     Now  she  must  con- 


119 


120  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

sider  other  people.  One's  own  suffering  is  not 
everything.  AVe  all  have  to  make  sacrifices. 
I'm  sure  I  do.  And  there  is  Tom  to  consider. 
If  I  were  to  take  Kate  home  Tom  would  soon 
know  what  I  would  rather  not  know,  and  he 
would  shoot  Hartley  on  sight.  Serve  him  right, 
too — the  scornful,  sneering  scoundrel  I  I  would 
like  to  knock  him  down  myself,  and  would  if  it 
was  not  for  the  scandal  and  the  unpleasantness 
that  would  come  of  it.  Julia's  brother  and  my 
daughter's  husband — it's  an  abominable  mess  ; 
but  Kate—" 

Hearing  the  door  open,  he  looked  up,  and  Ne- 
mesis stood  before  him  in  the  form  of  his  daugh- 
ter. All  of  his  fears  gathered  about  him,  and 
instinctively  he  tried  to  ward  off  trouble. 

''You  are  looking  tired,  Kate."  He  stood  up 
and  pushed  back  the  chair.  She  should  not  take 
him  at  a  disadvantage.  If  he  could  help  it  she 
should  not  complain  of  her  husband.  He  must 
prevent  it ;  he  already  knew  too  much.  He 
would  not  listen.  If  he  did  he  would  be  com- 
pelled to  a  course  of  conduct  that  was  at  variance 
with  all  his  ideas  of  decorum,  of  propriety  ;  and 
with  him  those  two  w^ords  had  very  large  mean- 
ing.    He  nervously  handled  his  letters  and  pa- 


II AGAR.  121 

pers,  still  standing  as  lie  talked  on  in  broken, 
disconnected  sentences. 

"  You  are  not  strong  yet  ;  and  you  are  sitting 
up  too  long.  You  know  you  must  not  overtask 
your  strength  this  first  day  you  are  with  us, 
Kate.  Better  go  and  lie  down  an  hour  or  two 
before  luncheon.  The  snow  is  whirling  in  drifts. 
The  wdnd  is  rising  and  these  halls  are  draughty. 
This  is  the  exposed  side  of  the  house.  Your 
room  is  sheltered  from  the  storm.  I  will  send 
Julia  to  you  at  once.  I  would  go  with  you,  but 
these  letters  must  be  off  to-day." 

"  I  must  sjjeak  with  you,  papa." 

^'  Yery  well,  we  will  have  a  cosey  talk  this  after- 
noon. But  just  now-^you  know,  Kate,  I  hate 
letters,  and  if  I  am  interrupted  they  suffer." 

With  a  childlike  gesture  of  appeal  she  put  out 
her  hand. 

"I  suffer,  papa — I  suffer  so  cruelly  I  can  no 
longer  endure  this  life  I  am  compelled  to  lead. 
If  you  go  without  hearing  me  I  know  I  shall  be 
driven  to  something  desperate.  Will  you  help 
me,  papa  ?    Will  you  listen  ? " 

Through  her  father's  fears  she  had  won  a 
hearing.  The  "something  desperate"  was  an 
argwnentum  ad  Jiominem.      The  judge  would 


122  TEE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

listen  to  all  she  wished  to  say,  if  by  his  listen- 
ing the  world  might  not  hear. 

*'If  it  is  really  important,  my  daughter,  why 
the  letters  must  wait." 

"  They  will  have  to  wait,  papa."  It  was  said 
softly,  with  a  pitiful  effort  to  smile  ;  but  tears 
were  gathering  in  the  dark  eyes  and  the  lips 
trembled  like  the  lips  of  a  grieved  child.  The 
judge  caught  at  the  change  in  her  manner— he 
was  ready  to  catch  at  straws. 

''  Unless  it  is  something  you  can  say  to  Julia. 
She  will  be  here  in  a  moment ;  she  is  very  fond 
of  you,  Kate,  and  very  discreet." 

''  No,  papa  ;  you  can  tell  Julia.  She  arranged 
with  Captain  Hartley  the  terms  upon  which  I 
have  stayed  at  Oakhill  this  summer — until  my 
baby  was  born.  She  does  not  know  that  I  have 
now  decided  to  leave  here." 

The  straws  were  all  broken  and  the  judge  in 
deep  water.  Without  another  word  he  followed 
Kate  to  her  room. 

A  gallant  of  the  court  in  the  days  of  Louis 
Quatorze  who,  when  banqueting  with  the  king, 
was  suddenly  arrested  and  hurried  to  the  Bastile 
could  not  have  been  more  astounded  at  the  rattle 
of  fetters  and  the  clang  of  dungeon  fastenings 


EAGAR.  123 

than  was  Judge  Cartaret  when  his  daughter 
locked  the  door  of  her  dressing-room  and  sat 
down  beside  him. 

For  a  little  time — one  of  those  short  spaces  in 
which  the  Fates  tAvist  the  thread  they  are  spin- 
ning— there  was  no  sound  save  occasional  sigh- 
ing gusts  of  the  wind  and  sinister  hisses  of  the 
tongues  of  flame  which  crept  through  the  bars 
of  the  grate. 

Kate' s  voice  broke  the  silence,  startling  her  fa- 
ther with  its  intensity  : 

^' I  have  never  loved  Captain  Hartley,  papa — 
never  as  a  wife  should  love.  I  must  leave  here 
at  once,  for  I  am  learning  to  hate  him.  Yes,  I 
know  it  is  a  terrible  thing  to  say  ;  but,  papa,  it 
is  a  hundredfold  worse  to  feel  nothing  but  scorn 
and  hatred  for  the  father  of  my  dead  baby." 
Again  the  sensitive  lips  quivered,  but  with  reso- 
lute effort  the  low,  sweet  voice  steadied  as  she 
continued  : 

' '  I  have  tried  to  see  what  was  right,  to  do  what 
was  right.  In  the  beginning  I  tried  my  very 
best,  papa.  Do  not  think  it  is  altogether  my 
fault.  I  did  not  know  just  what  marriage  meant. 
I  did  not  think  it  could  be  such  a  curse,  that  it 
could  make  one  so  wretched.     I  was  so  young 


124  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

when  I  left  you,  papa  ;  and  you  had  been  so 
kind,  so  indulgent.  Life  seemed  such  a  bright, 
such  a  glad  thing.  I  knew  no  evil  in  it ;  I 
could  not  believe  or  understand  Tom's  warn- 
ing. It  seemed  to  me  but  simple  justice  to 
give  love  for  love.  I  thought  it  ungenerous  to 
receive  without  giving  ;  and  Julia  was  so  kind, 
and  her  brother— well,  I  had  not  learned  what 
untruths  were  lived  in  the  world.  I  thought 
my  hesitation  pained  Julia  and  grieved  her  bro- 
ther. Then  I  j)romised  to  niarry  him  if  you 
consented." 

That  was  the  very  stab  her  father  had  feared — 
**  if  you  consented" ;  and  the  girl  was  so  evident- 
ly innocent  of  intention  to  wound.  It  was  as  if  a 
child,  playing  with  the  spear  of  Ithuriel,  had  un- 
consciously touched  him  and  pierced  through  the 
gauds  of  the  world  and  the  shell  of  self.  The 
history  of  Hartley's  past,  which  his  son  had  so 
passionately  pleaded  against  his  acceptance  of 
the  rich  suitor,  seemed  to  picture  itself  in  the 
smouldering  fire  and  the  tongues  of  flame.  He 
could  only  dumbly  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  vic- 
tim he  had  given  to  Erinnys. 

**  I  do  not  think  you  were  quite  willing,  papa, 
but  you  thought  it  was  for  my  happiness.     You 


HAGAR.  125 

were  always  indulgent  to  me,  generous,  and  lov- 
ing. 0  papa  !  how  could  I  think  anj^  one  would 
ever  be  unkind  or  cruel  to  me  ?  I  knew  Tom  did 
not  like  Captain  Hartley.  I  thought  he  was  pre- 
judiced, that  his  opposition  was  the  result  of  his 
dislike  ;  but  Tom,  with  his  fiery  temper,  never 
said  a  harsh  word  to  mo  in  all  my  life.  Papa, 
should  I  have  expected  less  from  a  husband  than 
from  a  brother?" 

He  Vv-as  compelled  to  speak  : 

'*  Certainly  not  ;  but  this  fellow  is  not  a  gen- 
tleman." 

The  words  came  through  half-shut  teeth,  as  if 
they  forced  themselves  into  speech. 

"  'No,  papa,  he  is  not  a  gentleman  ;  that  is  the 
horror  of  it.  1  told  him  so  when  he  cursed  me — 
he  proved  it  by  a  blow." 

"  Cursed  you  ?  struck  you  ?  My  God  I  did  he 
strike  you  ?" 

The  indignant  father  caught  his  child  to  his 
heart.  IS'ature  had  torn  away  the  last  shred  of 
conventionalism.  He  was  no  longer  the  mere 
courtly  gentleman  considering  the  quarterings  of 
his  blazon.  He  was  a  Man,  outraged  through 
this  insult  to  a  woman  dependent  on  his  protec- 
tion.    The  girl,  with  her  arms  about  his  neck, 


126  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

weeping  upon  his  breast,  felt  the  sobs  that  shook 
him  like  a  temi^est. 

"Papa !  papa  !  it  is  worse  than  my  own  pain 
to  see  you  so  grieved.  Papa,  he  never  struck  me 
but  once.  I  would  not  listen  to  any  apology 
from  liim.  But  Julia  begged  me  for  your  sake, 
for  my  baby' s  sake,  not  to  tell  you,  not  to  wait 
in  NeAv  York,  but  to  come  here  with  her.  He 
was  to  leave  Oakhill.  She  promised  he  would 
not  return  here  until  all  our  visitors  were  gone. 
He  did  go  to  Xew  Mexico ;  he  did  not  return 
until  his  sister  wrote  him  to  come.  She  said  he 
must  be  here  when — when  my  baby  came,  or  else 
you  would  know  of  our  separation.  I  hoped  to 
be  able  to  forgive  him  for  his  child' s  sake.  But 
my  baby  was  the  only  hope  of  that.  Now  all 
our  ties  are  broken.  If  it  had  lived— and  he  did 
send  the  woman  away  ;  she  was  gone  that  day — 
the  day  I  came  back  with  Julia.  The  day  before 
you  left  IS'eAv  York  he  sent  her  away." 

In  a  choked  voice  he  asked  : 

''What  woman?" 

''The  mother  of  that  beautiful  child — his 
child.  It  was  near  her  cottage,  in  the  shrubbery 
beyond  the  latticed  gate,  that  he  found  me — that 
he  struck  me." 


HAGAR.  127 

Holding  his  daughter  as  if  to  shield  her,  kiss- 
ing her  hair  and  forehead  and  tearful  eyes,  Judge 
Cartaret  said : 

^' Bathe  your  face,  my  daughter;  I  will  send 
Eose  to  get  you  some  wine.  Tell  her  to  pack  up 
the  things  you  will  need.  I  shall  take  you  with 
me  at  once  to  New  York.  I  cannot  settle  with 
that  scoundrel  in  his  own  house.  But  can  you 
go,  Kate  ?  Are  you  well  enough  to  go  out  in  this 
storm  ?  I  cannot  risk  your  health,  my  child ; 
and  I  do  not  like  to  leave  you  another  day  in 
this  house." 

''Yes,  I  can  go,  papa.  I  can  bear  anything 
but  to  stay  here — alone  with  him.  But  you, 
papa?  For  Julia's  sake,  for  my  dead  baby's 
sake,  you  will  not — " 

"Be  calm,  my  child.  I  cannot  fight  the  cow- 
ardly brute,  much  as  I  wish  it.  But  Tom  is  not 
so  fettered." 

"  Papa  !  O  papa  !    Tom  must  not  know." 

There  was  a  quick  knocking  at  the  door. 

"Rose!" 

"No,  it  is  not  Rose.  It  is  I — Julia.  Is  your 
father  there,  Kate  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  I  must  see  him  immediately.     Tell  him  to 


128  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

come  to  my  room.  There  is  a  messenger  liere 
from  Belleview." 

They  heard  lier  walk  away. 

'' Please  go,  pajia.  You  can  tell  Julia  I  am 
going  with  yon.  And  say,  papa,  with  my  love, 
that  I  had  rather  not  see  her  before  we  go.  Un- 
less, paxia— do  yon  wish  her  to  go  with  us  ?  '^ 

''  No  ;  she  is  not  ready.  Rose  can  finish  your 
packing  and  come  with  Julia  to-morrow.  Dress 
very  warmly,  my  daughter.  We  shall  have  to 
drive  to  Xew  York.  There  is  no  train  until  late 
this  afternoon. '^ 

''Yes,  papa." 

In  the  hall  Captain  Hartley  was  waiting  for 
Judge  Cartaret.     He  held  out  a  letter,  saying  : 

''  Judge,  you  had  better  come  to  the  library  to 
read  this  letter.  The  messenger  who  brought  it 
is  there.- ' 

Without  a  word  or  gesture  to  show  his  know- 
ledge of  Hartley's  presence,  Judge  Cartaret 
started  down  the  stairway,  when  he  met  Rose 
coming  up.     She  had  a  scared,  ashen  face. 

*'  Rose,  where  is  Sandy  V 

''  In  the  kitchen,  marster." 

"Tellium  to  goto  Yonkers  and  get  the  best 
horses  they  have  in  the  livery-stable  and  a  close, 


HAQAR.  129 

comfortable  carriage.    I  shall  drive  to  New  York, 
and  he  must  come  with  the  carriage  at    once. 
Do  you  understand?    At  once.'* 
'*  Yes,  marster," 


CHAPTER  Xn. 


"  What  is  he  but  a  brute 
Whose  laesh  hath  soul  to  suit  ?" 


THE  Hilton  paj^ers  were  soon  disposed  of  by- 
Mrs.  Cartaret  and  Captain  Hartley,  and 
Mrs.  Cartaret' s  real  subject  of  discussion 
in  the  interview  slie  had  asked  for  w  as  reached 
in  this  question : 

*'  Have  you  had  any  explanation  with  Kate  i 
Have  you  arranged  anything  for  the  future, 
Wenner  ?  It  will  not  do  to  leave  things  as  they 
are,  to  trust  to  her  having  forgiven  your  of- 
fence." 

"I  thought  3^ou  were  the  treaty-maker.  I 
have  done  nothing,  except  to  observe  very  faith- 
fully the  conditions  she  made.  I  liave  neither 
spoken  to  her  nor  have  I  seen  her  except  in  her 
father's  presence  or  yours.  That  Avas  the  condi- 
tion to  be  observed  on  my  return  here.  The  ban- 
ishment of  Lucy  w^as  instantaneous.  It  w^as  ac- 
comx)lished  the  day  she  ordered  it.    There  ^vas 


EAGAR.  131 

nothing  more  required— at  least  I  so  understood. 
If  there  is  a  bitch  the  error  is  in  your  diplomacy. 
Was  it  only  an  armed  truce  you  arranged  ? ' ' 

*'It  is  an  armed  truce.  Your  phrase  very 
correctly  defines  it.  Kate  made  conditions  which 
you  accepted  to  secure  her  stay  here — her  si- 
lence. But  her  promises  were  limited.  They 
ended  with  the  birth  of  her  child.  Since  its 
death  I  do  not  know  what  she  may  do,  what  she 
has  decided.  It  needed  all  the  diplomacy  you 
so  sneeringly  mention  to  persuade  her  to  return 
to  Oakhill ;  to  leave  New  York  that  morning 
witliout  seeing  her  father ;  to  keep  silent  when 
he  came  here.  Now,  if  further  'diplomacy'  is 
needed  you  must  be  your  own  ambassador." 

Hartley  was  standing  by  the  open  wood  fire. 
A  burning  log  broke  and  rolled  against  the  fen- 
der. He  violently  kicked  it  in  place,  sending 
after  it  a  volley  of  fierce  oaths. 

^'Wenner!" 

''  What  more  have  you  to  say?"  With  spite- 
ful rage  he  threw  this  question  at  his  sister. 

"You  are  such  a  brute  that  for  Kate's  own 
sake  I  shall  be  glad  if  she  does  come  to  Belleview. 
You  need  not  practise  that  basilisk  glare.  I  am 
not  your  wife  ;  you  dare  not  strike  me  !     If  you 


132  THE  MODERJS'  HAGAR. 

do  not  govern  your  language  and  your  temper  I 
will  neither  listen  to  you  nor  try  to  excuse  you 
to  Kate  or  her  father  when  she  tells  him  the 
story  of  her  life  with  you/' 

"  Curse  them  all !  I  hate  the  breed."  Look- 
ing at  his  sister,  he  Avas  discreet  enough  to  stop 
there.  The  expression  in  her  face  warned  him 
to  be  cautious.  He  clenched  his  long,  white 
teeth  beneath  the  parted  lips,  that  gave  a  wolf- 
ish expression  to  the  narrow,  pale  face  which 
was  fringed  with  dark  red  whiskers,  and  waited 
with  what  patience  he  could  muster  for  the 
thrust  he  knew  was  coming. 

"  It  was  as  much  cowardly  fear  of  the  Cartaret 
gentlemen  as  anxiety  to  preserve  the  position 
your  connection  with  the  Cartarets  gave  you 
that  made  you  so  humble  in  apology  last  sum- 
mer. You  knew  you  had  passed  bounds  which 
it  was  not  safe  to  pass.  The  pride  that  helped 
Kate  to  conceal  her  suffering,  to  bear  neglect  and 
the  petty  tortures  of  her  daily  life,  had  driven 
her  to  desperation.  You  did  not  care  to  face  a 
settlement  with  the  Cartarets.  For  some  reason 
I  was  once  almost  silly  enough  to  believe  it  a 
sentiment  of  natural  affection,  and  that  you 
wished  to  preserve    the   life    of    Kate's    child. 


HAGAR.  ;13;3 

Possibly  you  have  the  instinct  of  parental  love. 
Your  self-love  may  include  your  children  in  its 
narrow  circle.  I  remember  you  seemed  really 
fond  of  that  woman's  child— that  poor  'Hagar' 
you  sent  away." 

It  had  been  a  fierce  struggle,  but  he  had  mas- 
tered his  temper  when  at  white  heat.  He  re- 
membered that  he  could  not  perfect  his  plans 
for  the  future  without  his  sisters  assistance. 
He  believed  he  could  win  her  assistance.  Al- 
though she  knew  him  thoroughly  and  frequently 
failed  to  withhold  frank,  contemptuous  expres- 
sion of  that  knowledge,  he  was  sure  that  at  heart 
she  loved  him  loyally.  Had  she  not  loved  him 
he  would  have  had  more  respect  for  her ;  it  was 
a  weakness,  something  to  be  counted  when  he 
reckoned  up  his  chances,  so  he  gave  neither  re- 
spect nor  love  for  love.  But  just  then  he  needed 
her  help  ;  and  w^ords  are  cheap  tempters.  "For- 
give me,  Julia.  You  know  I  have  not  over-much 
patience,  and  you  see  with  what  contempt  that 
girl  regards  me.  You  talk  of  the  sacrifice  of  her 
pride.  Do  you  think  it  has  cost  me  nothing  to 
come  to  Oakhill  and  live  here  through  the  last 
six  weeks— six  weeks  given  to  the  stubborn,  si- 
lent fool  and  that  old  idiot,  her  fatlier  ?" 


134  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"You  are  speaking  of  your  wife  and  of  my 
husband  ;  that  last  I  insist  you  shall  remember." 

"  I  cannot  well  forget  the  double  relationship. 
But  I  do  not  think  you  need  take  offence  at  what 
I  say.  Neither  of  us  has  wholly  neglected  op- 
portunities. You  made  one  love-match  which 
taught  you  how  dearly  love  could  cost — " 

''  Do  not  speak  of  that — you  shall  not !  " 

''I  intend  to  say  nothing  which  is  disagree- 
able, but  I  am  summing  up  facts  ;  once  for  all  let 
us  count  them  fairly.  When  you  met  Judge 
Cartaret  you  were  a  beautiful  widow  with  luxu- 
rious tastes  and  no  resources.  Your  patrimony, 
never  much,  had  been  spent.  Your  life  here 
with  old  Simon  Hartley  was  one  of  bitter  de- 
X)endence  ;  his  housekeeper,  the  unacknowledged 
daughter  of  our  father,  had  a  better  position 
than  yours  in  the  old  miser  s  household.  And 
your  position  was  likely  to  be  more  unbearable 
when  his  son  returned  from  Europe  with  the 
wife  who  had  taken  the  husband  you  refused  in 
your  romantic  girlish  days.  You  did  the  very 
best  thing  possible  when  you  married  Judge 
Cartaret.  You  were  wiser  than  I  dared  hope 
you  would  be.  You  see  you  have  a  tendency 
to  the  infeasible,  the  impracticable — just  a  touch 


HAGAB.  135 

upon  the  brain,  a  weak  place  somewhere,  a  lean- 
ing to  romantic  vagaries.  But  the  old  man  here 
taught  you  the  value  of  wealth  and  the  bitterness 
of  dependence.  I  do  not  wonder  you  esteem  the 
Carterets  highly.  What  a  contrast  it  must  have 
been  ! — the  princely  hospitality,  the  elegant  cour- 
tesy of  those  Virginians ;  after  two  years  of 
black  bread  salted  with  allusion  to  the  husband 
who  left  you  penniless." 

"I  tell  you,  Wenner,  you  shall  not  speak  of 
him." 

"I  will  not  again  offend.  Your  faithfulness 
does  you  credit.  I  wonder  where  you  came  by 
that  quality?  It  does  not  run  in  the  Hartley 
blood,  except  in  the  channel  of  self.  It  is  your 
vagary  alone.  I  do  not  suppose  you  e^er  v/ould 
have  married  again  if  that  ship  had  gone  down, 
with  the  old  miser's  progeny  aboard,  four  months 
earlier,  and  had  been  hard  followed,  as  it  was 
later,  by  old  Simon's  death.  But  it  is  better  that 
you  did  marry  again.  You  have  position  as 
well  as  wealth.  Why,  when  I  came  into  old 
Simon's  savings  I  married  for  like  reasons." 

^'  But  Kate  had  no  fortune." 

"You  will  forget  '  the  great  Cartaret  estate '— 
that  semi-royal  residence,  'the  Cedars,'— I  think 


13G  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

I  shall  prefer  it  to  Oakliill  ;  and  pray  remember 
tlie  almost  numberless  investments  of  growing 
capital  made  by  your  husband.  IN'ow  I  shall 
flatter  you  through  him."  They  both  smiled  (her 
anger  was  gone,  his  was  hidden)  as  he  continued : 
''  Judge  Cartaret's  management  of  Mrs.  Leszink- 
sky^s  inheritance  has  been  simply  admirable. 
Her  heirs  are  much  indebted  to  him"— indicat- 
ing himself  by  touch  as  one  of  the  grateful 
throng,  he  bowed  mockingly. 

*'  But  what  possible  chance  has  Kate  to  inherit 
the  Cedars?  There  is  Mrs.  Leszinksky^s  child. 
I  have  never  heard  that  Rue  is  at  all  delicate. 
Then  before  Kate— and  even  her  interest  you 
do  not  seem  likely  to  secure — there  is  Tom  Car- 
taret.  You  do  not  know  the  last  news  from 
Tom.  It  is  not  to  be  publicly  told  before  Christ- 
mas. I  thought  you  were  the  reason  he  would 
not  come  here  this  summer ;  but  it  seems  he 
stayed  at  Buffalo  Springs,  and  lingered  through 
the  hunting  season  this  fall  in  Mecklenburg  to- 
some  purpose.  He  is  engaged  to  Mildred  Ham- 
ner.  Kate  has  not  the  shadow  of  a  chance  to 
own  the  'Cedars.'  " 

*'No  matter  how  shadowy  the  chance.     It  is 
pne  I  have  heavily  backed.     I  have  staked  old 


HAGAR.  137 

Simon  Hartley's  estate  and  my  handsome  per- 
son on  tliat  glimmering  shadow,  and  I  expect 
to  win.     So  Tom  is  hunting  in  Mecklenburg  T' 

The  long,  white  teeth  were  fully  shown  as  Hart- 
ley's clear,  mocking  laugh  rang  out.  There  was 
a  half -fearful,  curious  look  in  Mrs.  Cartaret's 
eyes. 

*'  What  can  you  mean,  Wenner  ? " 

''  Why,  luck  to  the  Mecklenburg  hunt.  The 
hunters  will  sigh  in  vain  for  the  brush  of  a  fox. 
Tom  will  take  them  all.  He  is  a  plucky  rider 
and  will  gallantly  lead.  Not  a  brush  will  he  fail 
to  lay  at  his  sweetheart' s  feet,  if  he  is  only  well 
mounted. " 

''  He  has  with  him  the  best-bred  horse  in  'the 
Cedars' '  stables  and  that  English  hunter  you  sent 
over."  Suddenly  Mrs.  Cartaret  paled  visibly. 
Again  her  brother  laughed.  There  was  a  short  si- 
lence, then  she  spoke  ;  her  words  showed  where 
her  thoughts  had  strayed.  *^  If  you  care  for  any 
one  in  the  world,  Wenner,  it  is  that  beautiful 
child  of  Lucy's.  Had  she  been  humpbacked  or 
plain  I  suppose  you  would  have  detested  her. 
But  being  an  idealized  likeness  of  yourself,  your 
vanity  has  won  her  a  certain  place  in  your  affec- 
tion.    I  do  not  believe  that  affection  would  out- 


138  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

live  a  case  of  confluent  smallpox  or  a  bad  dis- 
figurement, but  it  will  exist  while  she  pleases 
your  sense  of  beauty." 

''  She  is  a  beautiful  child,  and  I  am  fond  of 
her,  although  I  have  long  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
her  mother.  It  was  the  merest  bosh  for  Kate  to 
be  in  such  a  rage  that  day.  I  would  have  ship- 
ped Lucy  long  ago  but  for  the  child.  And  she 
was  not  in  the  house  here.  I  never  did  quite 
know  how  Kate  found  her  way  to  the  cottage 
that  morning.  I  was  there  to  tell  Lucy  of  a 
change  I  wished  made.  In  some  way  this  charm- 
ing half-sister  of  ours,  this  hereditary  house- 
keeper planted  by  old  Simon's  will  at  Oakhill, 
had  taken  Lucy  under  her  sheltering  wing — a 
fellow-feeling,  I  presume,  among  these  daughters 
of  nobody — so  it  was  difficult  to  arrange  Lucy's 
separation  from  the  child.  And  I  wanted  Mai 
away  from  her.  Lucy  is  unmistakably  a  quad- 
roon. Any  negro- trader  could  tell  the  taint  in 
her  blood.  But  Mai  is  pure  to  sight  as  a  lily — 
much  fairer  than  that  little  wild- cat  of  Leszink- 
sky's." 

Something  in  the  comparison  or  in  a  memory 
made  Hartley's  face  darken.  He  was  looking 
out  at  the  fast-flying,  driving  snow.     His  sister 


HAOAR.  139 

sat  watching  Mm,  thinking  of  Kate  and  the 
chance  of  a  reconciliation,  when  some  one  knock- 
ed at  the  door  leading  to  the  library— the  door 
of  the  ciirtained  recess.  At  Hartley's  bidding 
the  door  opened  and  Marten  came  in  announc- 
ing an  arrival : 

''  Mr.  Richard  Freeman  is  here,  sir  ;  he  drove 
out  from  New  York.  He  left  Belleview  yester- 
day. There  is  very  bad  news,  sir,  for  Judge 
Cartaret." 

''What  is  it,  do  you  know?" 

''Mr.  Tom  Cartaret  is  dead,  sir." 

*' Are  you  sure  ?" 

Mrs.  Cartaret  trembled  violently.  Her  bro- 
ther repeated  the  inquiry  in  an  expectant,  hush- 
ed tone. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  saw  Mr.  Richard  myself.  He 
sent  for  me  to  come  out.  He  wanted  you  to  be 
told  first,  so  you  could  break  the  news  to  Judge 
Cartaret.  He  brought  a  letter  for  him  from  Doc- 
tor Cabell.  But  the  doctor  cautioned  him  not 
to  deliver  it  until  the  judge  was  prepared." 

"Do  you  know  when  Tom  died?" 

"Three  days  ago,  sir.  He  was  out  hunting 
in  Mecklenburg.  The  English  horse  he  was  rid- 
ing refused  to  take  a  fence.     Mr.  Tom  sent  him 


140  THE  MODEBN  HAfiAR. 

at  it,  and  lie  reared  and  swerved.  Mr.  Tom  was 
on  the  ground  when  the  horse  struck  him  and 
killed  him.  Mr.  Eichard  was  with  him  ;  he  saw 
the  horse  kill  him.  He  says  the  brute  was  so 
vicious  he  seemed  gone  mad." 

"God  have  mercy!  It  is  too  horrible!" 
moaned  Mrs.  Cartaret.  Hartley's  face  was  livid 
in  its  pallor.  With  a  quick  glance  at  his  sister 
he  asked : 

"Where  is  Richard  Freeman?" 

"  In  the  dining-room,  sir.  He  gave  me  this 
letter  of  Doctor  Cabell's  for  you." 

"Tell  him  I  will  see  him  soon.  He  must 
come  to  the  library  and  see  Judge  Cartaret  as 
soon  as  the  judge  comes  down."  As  Marten 
left  the  room  Hartley  said  to  his  sister : 

"Julia!  command  yourself.  You  must  ex- 
ert all  your  self-control.  It  will  be  best  for  you 
to  see  Judge  Cartaret  and  tell  him  there  is  a  mes- 
senger here  from  Belleview.  Tell  him  nothing 
more.  I  will  wait  in  the  hall  and  bring  him 
down  to  the  library  to  see  Eichard.  You  must 
be  careful  not  to  alarm  Kate.  The  doctor  must 
be  here  before  she  is  told.  I  will  try  to  break 
the  news  to  her  father." 

Mrs.  Cartaret  shuddered  as  her  brother  touch- 


HAGAR.  141 

ed  her  shoulder ;  she  shrank  from  his  hand  and 
turned  to  leave  the  room.  He  followed  his  sis- 
ter up  the  stairway,  first  telling  Marten,  who 
was  waiting  in  the  hall,  to  take  Eichard  Free- 
man to  the  library,  and  then  keep  the  servants 
away  and  the  house  quiet.  Mrs.  Gartaret  came 
out  of  her  room ;  meeting  her  brother  in  the 
doorway,  she  exclaimed  in  a  frightened,  an- 
guished tone  : 

"  My  husband  is  not  here.  I  think  he  is  with 
Kate.  I  cannot  go  to  them.  I  will  wait  here 
for  him." 

"Julia,  you  must  go." 

He  took  her  hand  and  forced  her  into  her 
room,  shutting  the  door  after  him.  She  strug- 
gled to  get  free.  Holding  her  firmly,  he  con- 
tinued : 

''  You  are  absurd  in  your  terror.  Are  you  so 
stupid  that  you  think  me  responsible  for  this 
accident?" 

"You  bought  that  horse.  Did  you  know  he 
was  vicious  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  wrote  Tom  that  at  times  he  was 
unmanageable.' ' 

At  some  length  he  explained  the  orders  he  had 
had  from  Tom  about  the  purchase  of  a  hunter, 


142  TJll-:  MODERN  HAGAB. 

and  why  he  liad  bought  this  one.  ''  It  was  tho- 
roughbred, of  splendid  action,  and  uj)  to  Tom's 
weight ;  cheaj)  because  difficult  to  manage.  But 
Tom,  knowiDg  all,  wrote  to  buy  it."  Mrs.  Car- 
taret  listened  while  bathing  her  face  and  waiting 
for  her  husband.  At  last  Hartley  persuaded  her 
to  go  to  Kate's  room.  She  called  Judge  Cartaret 
and  then  went  back,  leaving  the  rest  to  her  bro- 
ther. I  liave  told  how  the  judge  met  Hartley. 
As  he  came  up  the  stairway,  after  sending  Rose 
with  the  message  to  his  servant,  the  judge  saw 
Hartley  on  the  landing.  Without  a  word,  as 
Judge  Cartaret  passed,  Hartley  again  offered 
Doctor  Cabell's  letter.  Without  a  word  the 
judge  took  it ;  he  opened  it,  glanced  down  the 
page,  and,  turning,  I'aised  his  clenched  fist  to 
strike  Hartley,  shouting,  "You—"  The  shout 
died  in  his  throat  as  he  fell  heavily  on  the  floor. 
It  was  the  last  effort  of  the  outraged  father. 
The  double  shock  had  killed  him. 


BOOK    SECOND 


PLEXUS. 


**  *  Who  was  it  blundered  '9  eh? 

It  is  not  mine  to  say. 

But  I,  if  breath  hold  out,  will  tell  you  what  I  saw" 


PAR>T    FIRST.     1856. 


IN    THE    GATEWAY    OF    WAR 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

"  'Tis  sad  to  hack  into  the  roots  of  things, 

They  are  so  much  intertwisted  with  the  earth." 

IN  this  act  of  the  drama  which  I  am  writing 
the    scene    opens  at    the  Burnet  Honse  in 
Cincinnati.      The    time    was    that    particu- 
lar week  in  June,  1856,  when  President-makers 
were  crowding  the  hotels   of    the  little  inland 
city. 

At  that  date  Cincinnati  was  the  commercial 
centre  of  the  territory  which  Virginia  had  given 
to  the  federal  government.  The  decline  of  the 
fur-trade  of  St.  Louis  had  scattered  her  ener- 
getic and  ambitious  capitalists  to  distant  points 
in  New  Mexico  and  along  the  Pacific  coast. 
Louisville,  with  the  great  natural  advantage  of 
^her  position  at  the  falls  of  the  Ohio,  had  not 
then  conquered  the  minor  difficulties  of  the  sit- 
uation. Chicago,  a  swampy,  spreading  town, 
just  beginning  to  overlap  the  barriers  of  prairie 
mud,  although  slowly  gaining  strength  for  that 
struggle   with   obstruction  which    has    securely 


14G  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

seated  her  upon  a  throne  of  converging  rail- 
ways, was  apparently  belated  in  the  race  for  su- 
premacy in  the  Northwest.  Daring  this  pause 
in  the  growth  of  her  river  rivals,  and  without 
jealousy  of  the  lakeside  town,  Cincinnati  had 
pushed  steadily  on  in  the  road  to  wealth. 

In  the  first  decades  of  the  State's  existence 
Ohio  was  intersected  with  a  network  of  commer- 
cial arteries — turnpikes  that  were  paying  divi- 
dends which  enriched  stockholders,  and  canals 
which  were  fed  by  rivers  that  watered  and  drain- 
ed a  fertile  soil.* 

The  develoiDment  of  the  natural  wealth  of  the 
State  so  changed  the  character  and  condition  of 
the  inhabitants  that  it  defeated  one  object  of 
the  creators  of  the  State.  In  the  transfer  of  her 
Northwest  territory  A'^irginia  had  dismembered 
herself  to  relieve  the  vast  extent  of  her  unsettled 
lands  from  the  incubus  of  slavery.  It  needed 
less  than  a  century  to  prove  the  futility  of  the 
gift  as  an  aid  to  freedom.  The  Democratic  eman-- 
cipationists  of  the  ''Old  Dominion"  believed 
that  the  creation  of  free  States  upon  the  Ohio 
River  would  hedge  the  growth  and  finally  extir- 

*  These  canals  soon  attracted  the  greed  of  politicians,  who  made  avciy 
profitable  "  ring''  of  the  Canal  Board. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  147 

pate  the  evil  that  had  been  fastened  upon  the 
commonwealth  in  colonial  days.  Dominated  by 
that  belief,  they  set  apart  the  Northwest  territory 
as  a  refuge  and  a  future  home  for  free  labor, 
which,  it  was  hoped,  would  react  upon  the  do- 
mestic institutions  of  the  State  and  make  prac- 
ticable some  j)lan  of  gradual  emancipation  msely 
framed  to  benefit  the  newly-created  freedmen 
without  ruining  the  future  of  the  emancipators. 
Such  a  hope  seemed  natural  and  reasonable  to  a 
people  who  had  received  as  a  cardinal  point  in  the 
doctrine  of  human  rights  the  grand  sophism  in 
the  opening  sentence  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. Their  intention  was  excellent.  But 
in  fact  the  creation  of  this  intended  strong- 
hold for  a  poor  and  pure  democracy  served 
only  to  develop  and  establish  an  autocratic  slave- 
power  in  the  Southwest,  altogether  different  in 
temiDer  and  spirit  from  the  mild  and  clannish 
serfdom  which  domestic  servitude  had  become  in 
Virginia.*  The  sentiment  of  the  South  Atlantic 
States  in  the  latter  part  of  the  last  and  the  earlier 
part  of  this  century  was  largely  in    favor    of 

*  With  cause  and  effect  before  us  it  is  easy  to  see  that  if  Virginia 
had  held  her  territory  its  settlement  would  hare  been  less  rapid  and 
slaveiy  would  have  been  abolished  through  gradual  change  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  slave. 


148  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

emancipation  for  practical  as  well  as  philan- 
thropic reasons. "^  Henry  Clay's  well-known 
views  on  the  question  of  emancipation  were  re- 
flex ideas  prevalent  in  his  youth  in  the  State  in 
which  he  was  born. 

Such  sentiments  were  spreading  and  Avere  be- 
ginning to  find  favor.  Louisiana  had  greatly 
modified  her  laws  of  servitude.  The  shackles 
of  the  slave  were  loosening,  and  would  have 
speedily  fallen  of  themselves  had  not  the  transfer 
of  the  Northwest  territory  to  the  federal  gov- 
ernment forced  the  removal  of  the  Indians  from 
the  Gulf  States  and  the  Mississippi  Valley,  that 
cotton  might  be  grown  to  enrich  the  trader,  who 
furnished  food  to  feed  the  laborers.  Thus  the 
extension  of  slavery  was  made  practicable  as  well 
as  profitable.  The  greed  of  the  trader,  of  the 
speculator,  infected  the  planter ;  the  burning  lust 
of  wealth  had  but  touched  him,  and  his  philan- 
thropy shrivelled  at  the  touch. 

Tlirough  wasteful  methods  the  uplands  in  the 
South  Atlantic  States  had  become  worn  out  and 
comparatively  useless.     Tobacco  liad  exhausted 


*  Tho  Virginians  who  earned  human  chattels  to  Kentucky  found  such 
property  unprofitable.  Frontier  risks  lor  breakage  and  loss  were  too 
costly. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  140 

the  soil  of  Virginia  (except  strips  of  "low 
grounds"  on  the  borders  of  water-courses  and 
exceptional  fields  of  ".new  grounds"  reclaimed 
from  the  forests  that  had  grown  up  upon  the 
waste  lands).  Under  these  conditions  slavery 
was  not  only  unprofitable  but  it  was  becoming 
burdensome  ;  worn-out  lands  were  demonstrating 
the  expensiveness  of  slave-labor. 

There  were  abundant  and  forcible  economic 
reasons  for  emancipation,  when  suddenly  the 
opening  of  a  Northwestern  granary  which  could 
feed  the  cultivators  of  a  staple  that  insured 
wealth  wrought  a  revolution  in  the  situation. 

Northwestern  prosperity  was  generated  in  the 
Southwest.  There  were  countless  acres  in  the 
Mississippi  Valley  adapted  to  the  growth  of 
cotton,  and  their  settlement  would  more  than 
double  the  value  of  the  slave.  That  these  acres 
belonged  to  the  Indian  tribes  was  but  a  trifling 
difiiculty — a  mere  matter  of  temporary  obstruc- 
tion ;  the  Indian  must  go  !  ^  Choctaws,  Chicka- 
saws,  Seminoles,  and  Creeks  f  were  forcibly  re- 
moved to  the  Indian  Territory  and  settled  upon 


*  In  all  the  economic  transactions  of  the  United  States  Department  of 
the  Intei-ior  it  has  been  necessary  to  remove  the  Indian. 

•f  A  slave-catchinff  contingent  of  Creeks  were  left  in  Georgia. 


150  THE  MODEBN  HAOAR. 

lands  now  given  to  tliem  ''in  perpetnity  "  *  by 
a  fresh  but  equally  elastic  treaty. 

The  removal  of  the  Indian  tribes  opened  a  great 
market,  and  a  highway  of  traffic  to  it,  for  the 
rapidly-increasing  surplus  of  Northwestern  pro- 
duce, and  transformed  simple  agriculturists  into 
grasping  traders.  The  very  fluctuation  of  profit 
increased  the  attraction.  The  rage  for  specula- 
tion which  succeeds  and  co-exists  with  those 
more  simple  and  open  forms  of  gambling  which 
follow  the  pioneer  westward  induced  each  little 
settlement  to  adventure  its  surplus.  Frontiers- 
men were  no  longer  content  with  the  homely 
comforts  or  modest  lorofits  of  frontier  farming. 
Flatboats  were  launched  from  every  settlement 
on  the  Ohio  and  its  northern  tributaries  to 
trade  with  the  equally  adventurous  planter  who 
took  quick  possession  of  the  ''vacated  lands." 
Steamboats  increased  and  extended  this  inter- 
sectional  trade— a  trade  that  founded  and  foster- 
ed the  material  prosperity  of  Ohio.     Cincinnati  f 

*  In  the  dictionary  of  wliitc  trcatv-makcrs  "  in  perpetuity  "  means 
until  the  Indian  reservations  develop  either  aaricultural  or  mineral  value — 
in  short,  until  they  arc  desirable  to  white  settlers. 

+  The  meat-pedlars,  bakers,  and  well-to-do  butchers  of  her  village  and 
town  days,  incipient  millionaires,  were  soon  covering  Mill  Creek  Bottom 
with  cattle-sheds,  mills,  and  slaughter-houses.  Year  after  year  there  wero 
Steady  and  large  accessions  to  the   ever-active  army  of  mill-owners  and 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  151 

led  the  State  in  this  mce  for  wealth,  and  drew 
her  profit  from  the  labor  of  the  slave  upon  the 
land  of  the  Indian.*  The  settlement  of  the  va- 
cated lands  upon  the  Mississipi)i  soon  proved 
that  a  staple  could  be  as  powerful  a  factor  in 
politics  as  in  commerce.  It  was  a  fact  of  which 
the  world  had  long  been  dimly  cognizant.  The 
feuds  in  the  Democratic  party  and  the  dis- 
ruption of  the  old  conservative  Whig  party,  by 
one  according  and  the  other  refusing  consent  to 
the  exactions  of  the  cotton  States,  made  the 
power  of  the  new  factor  apparent  to  the  merest 
tyro  in  state-craft. f 

One  fact  universally  patent  was  that  the  staple 
was  royally  enriching  the  planters  of  the  South 
and  their  providers  and  factors  in  the  North. 


pork-packers,  who  were  feeding  the  negi-oes  on  the  cotton  and  sngar  plan- 
tations of  the  Mississippi  Valley  and  the  Gulf  coast.  The  guild  of  dis- 
tillers on  the  banks  of  the  ''  Big""  and  "  Little  Miami  "  was  no  less  active 
in  sending  southwest  the  fiery  juice  of  the  yellow  maize,  xmtil  every  land- 
ing on  the  Arkansas  and  the  Mississippi,  at  high  and  low  water,  was  flooded 
with  "Dean's  Best''  and  other  less  pretentious  but  no  less  dangerous 
brands. 

*  The  commercial  spirit  that  brought  the  negro  from  Africa  and  drew 
its  profit  from  slave-ships,  that  made  the  negro-trader  a  possibility  and  a 
power  in  the  Southwest,  built  the  cities  of  the  Northwest,  as  it  had  the 
factories  of  New  England,  upon  the  profit  of  slave-labor. 

+  It  had  such  an  effect  upon  the  surface -thinkers  that  they  rushed  to 
the  other  extreme  of  faith  and  stupidly  believed  in  the  illimitable  rule  of 
•'  King  Cotton," 


152  THE  MODERN  HAOAB. 

All  increased  their  ventures,  that  more  negroes 
might  be  bought  to  raise  cotton  and  more  cotton 
raised  to  buy  negroes.  Thus  the  freedom  of  the 
slave  was  retarded  by  the  unexampled  growth  of 
Yirginia's  free  territory. 

The  disputes  in  and  out  of  the  Democratic 
Convention  which  assembled  at  Cincinnati  in 
1856,  the  vindictive  bitterness  of  rival  delega- 
tions, the  quarrel  of  the  "Hards"  and  the 
*'  Softs,"  foresliadowed  the  end  of  this  factitious 
prosperity. 

The  cause  and  its  final  consequence  being  part 
of  the  force  and  movement  of  this  drama,  the 
deus  ex  macMnd,  it  was  needful  to  show  that 
the  transfer  of  the  larger  j^ortion  of  the  area  of 
Virginia  to  the  federal  government,  and  the 
consequent  removal  of  the  Indian  tribes,  came 
near  ending  the  Union  which  it  was  intended  to 
strengthen.^'  It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  sin 
of  slavery  does  not  wholly  rest  at  the  door  of  the 
South — certainly  not  upon  the  lintel  of  Virginia. 

*  Fiction  is  oftcu  the  most  truthful  aud  faitliful  couservator  of  history. 


CHAPTEE  XIY. 

"  The  -western  Tvincl  -was  wild  and  dark  with  foanii 
And  all  alone  went  she." 

IN  one  of  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  first  floor  of 
the  Burnet  House,  near  the  Vine  Street 
entrance,  Captain  Hartley  was  seated  at  a 
small  table  by  an  open  window,  busily  writing. 
A  door  of  communication  with  a  larger  room  was 
slightly  ajar.  In  there  a  party  of  delegates  to 
the  convention,  and  some  few  of  their  attendant 
satellites  of  the  lobby,  were  noisily  discussing 
the  chances  of  the  Presidential  candidates.  They 
had  broken  into  groups  of  talkers,  and  the  only 
silent  listeners  were  the  smokers  in  the  windows 
opening  on  the  balcony  which  overhung  the 
Vine  Street  pavement. 

There  was  such  a  confusion  of  voices  that  the 
writer  in  the  small  room  could  hear  nothing  dis- 
tinctly except  the  repetition  of  certain  names. 
The  constant  arrival  and  departure  of  carriages 
and  stages  that  rattled  up  and  down  the  hill  and 

153 


154  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

around  the  corners  into  Third  Street  increased 
the  medley  of  sound. 

The  entrance  of  a  waiter  with  a  fresh  supply 
of  "Longworth's  Simrkling"  and  many  foam- 
ing glasses  of  ''Catawba  Cobblers"  created  a 
temporary  lull  in  the  committee-room  until  a 
squad  of  IS'ew  York  ''Hards"  contemptuously 
expressed  their  disgust  with  "this  weak  wine 
slush,"  and,  putting-  on  the  straw  hats  with 
which  they  had  been  trying  to  stir  the  breezeless 
air,  followed  a  leader  who  proposed  to  "go  up 
to  the  Waver] ey  and  see  if  Rynders  has  got 
there.  If  he  has  we'll  get  the  fellows  and  go 
wake  the  echoes  over  the  'Rhine.'  I  would 
rather  swill  beer  with  the  Dutchmen  than  de- 
moralize my^  stomach  with  such  stuff  as  this." 
With  the  departure  of  the  disgusted  detachment 
the  conversation  became  more  coherent. 

First  disjointed  sentences,  and  then,  as  they 
settled  to  steady  discussion,  all  the  conversation 
reached  Hartley,  accented  by  the  popping  of 
corks,  the  fizzing  of  wine,  and  the  rattle  of  ice 
in  the  thin,  resonant  glasses. 

"  I  say,  Breckenridge  is  working  for  Buchanan 
— working  to  push  his  own  interest.  He  is  bit- 
ten with — "  "We  have  to  face  the  fact  that  the 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR,  155 

Softs  are  well  organized — "  "A  set  of  Missouri 
Abolitionists  gone  off  on  the  same  craze — "  ''But 
the  party  must  be  kept  out  of  the  row  ;  they  are 
all  crazy  on  color — "  "It  is  simply  the  begin- 
ning of  the  retrograde  movement.  The  centri- 
petal and  centrifugal  forces  of  the  nation  and 
the  State  will  do  the  rest."  "The  South  is  no 
longer  safe  in  the  hands  of  a  New-Englander. 
There  is  a  sinister  motive  in  this  bid  for  oar  sup- 
port. It  is  always  the  same  cry :  '  Help  me. 
Cassius,  or  I  sink,'  and  when  Caesar  reaches  the 
shore  he  kicks  Cassius  into  the  water."  "As  if 
Slidell  could  do  anything  to  heal  tlie  breach  be- 
tween the  split  factions !  It  is  the  extreme  of 
folly  for  any  self-selected  umpire  to  propose  a 
conference  to  New  York  rival  delegations.  Sli- 
dell had  better  look  at  home  ;  there  is  Louisi- 
ana divided,  and  Soule  working  furiously  for 
Douglas."  "The  Bonax^arte  is  proven  as  clear- 
ly in  Soule' s  combinations  as  in  his  face  :  '  hon 
sang  ne  ment  pas.''  "  "In  the  convention  noise 
and  numbers  will  go  for  Old  Buck,  but  brains 
are  against  him."  "As  if  brains  ever  won 
against  such  odds  !" 

"  Benton  is  for  Buchanan." 

"  Then  it  is  clear  the  brains  go  the  other  way. 


156  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

The  Missourian  is  a  man  of  one  idea.  Witli  him 
there  is  but  one  question,  and  I  would  like  to 
ask  that  for  him  :  '  What  is  he  to  get  ? '  " 

*'  I  do  not  think  he  knows  just  what  he  wants. 
Somebody  asked  him  if  he  was  coming  to  the 
convention  ;  his  answer  was :  '  Yes,  sir ;  yes. 
Like  the  wild  hog,  sir,  he  can  be  tolled  up  to  eat 
corn,  sir,  but  he  can't  be  coaxed  into  the  pen, 
sir — can't  be  coaxed.'  Those  were  the  exact 
words  of  the  oracle.  Can  any  priest  of  his  tell 
what  they  mean  ? " 

**  Why,  that  he  wants  the  corn,  but  prefers  to 
pick  it  up  outside  the  pen." 

*'  You  do  not  understand  Benton  ;  he  is  a  great 
man  and  a  pure  patriot."  There  was  a  burst  of 
laughter,  but  the  Bentonite  continued  :  "  He  is 
abused  as  an  Abolitionist ;  but  hear  him.  He 
says  :  '  I  consider  a  slavery  agitation  and  its  na- 
tural offspring,  sectional  agitation,  the  greatest 
curse,  both  socially  and  politically,  which  could 
befall  our  Union.'  Would  an  Abolitionist  have 
said  that?" 

"  Dulce,  et  ccBiera — fine  words.  I  wonder  where 
he  stole  'em?  There  is  nothing  safer  in  politics 
than  a  rhetorical  burst.  It  is  effective  for  the 
time,  and  counts  for  notliing  when  the  moment 


m  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  157 

for  action  arrives.  Do  you  think  Benton  will  go 
with  the  South  should  the  sovereign  States  dis- 
solve this  federal  Union,  which  Greeley  defines 
as  a  '  compact  with  hell,'  and  which  Bob  Toombs 
designates  as  '  the  devil's  hund''  f  " 

''  Of  course  he  would.  Benton  is  first  and  last 
a  Missourian,  and  Missouri  is  a  Southern  State 
with  a  large  slave-holding  population." 

"  0  man  of  much  faith !  Missouri  would 
then  be  a  border  State  in  reality.  The  Free- 
Soil  party  with  which  your  favorite  has  affili- 
ated would  be  a  j)ower  in  Missouri.  The  North 
would  offer  them  the  State  as  a  bribe,  and  Ben- 
ton would  stick  by  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  So 
will  our  South-loving  lUinoisians.  I  am  a 
"Southerner,  but  I  am  not  blind.  I  know  that 
when  the  wind  veers  the  weathercocks  turn. 
In  my  dictionary  I  define  mat^  as  '  an  animal 
which  consults  its  own  interest  by  seeking  se- 
curity and  safety  at  the  expense  of  its  fellows.' 
If  the  cyclone  of  secession  ever  strikes  the  Unit- 
ed States  we  of  the  South  will  find  in  our  lov- 
ing Northwest  a  nest  of  malignants.  New  Eng- 
land is  tied  to  the  slave-fields  by  the  fibre  of 
cotton,  and  the  Northwest  is  enamored  of  the 
profit  slave-labor  pays  as  yearly  tribute.      The 


158  THE  MODERN  IIAOAR. 

possessive  case  is  endearing,  but  if  yon  change 
it  to  the  objective  and  shatter  interest  you  kill 
affection.  North  and  South  are  in  i)erfect  unity 
regarding  the  Indian,  because  he  is  unprofitable 
and  in  the  way ;  but  they  are  very  ready  to  di- 
vide on  the  negro  question  whenever  interest  is 
divided.  The  national  conscience  is  a  chame- 
leon, which  changes  its  color  to  suit  the  crime 
over  which  it  crawls." 

"  '  Saul  among  the  prophets' — a  Virginian  call- 
ing slavery  a  crime  !  " 

*'So  did  Jefferson  and  Kandolph.  I  do  not 
belie  my  blood  or  breeding.  I  respect  the  ex- 
treme Abolitionists  who  fight  for  a  principle  and 
refuse  a  compromise.  Had  I  been  born  among 
them  I  should  have  been  of  them.  As  it  is, 
seeing  the  futility  of  Abolitionism,  I  am  a  Vir- 
ginian Emancipationist." 

"Little  credit  that  will  bring  you  with  ex- 
tremists. Listen  to  this  from  the  New  York 
Tribune :  '  Southern  insolence  keeps  pace  with 
Northern  pusillanimity.'  Then  Mr.  Greeley 
hopes  that  '  the  first  act  of  the  new  regime 
will  be  to  subject  to  ten  years'  imprisonment 
in  the  X)enitentiary  any  one  making  an  assault 
upon  a  member  of  Congress  while  at  Washing- 


iiV   TEE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  159 

ton.  or  going  or  retnrning  from  there.'  Then 
he  likens  the  Federal  legislators  to  the  Roman 
^Tribunes  of  the  People,'  andinsists  that  'they 
shall  be  clothed  with  an  absolute  personal  invio- 
lability.' " 

^'I  believe  the  tendency  of  the  Whig  party 
and  its  fragments  is  to  imperialism ;  and  here 
is  fresh  proof  that  my  belief  is  well  grounded : 
A  leader  of  opinion — and,  mark  it,  a  mxan  born  o:f 
the  working-class— advises  the  creation  ol  a  pri- 
vileged aristocracy.  This  advice  is  the  forerun- 
ner of  what  is  to  come,  the  beginning  of  the 
end — the  prologue  in  the  tragedy  of  the  Colum- 
bian empire.  It  is  accented  by  the  resolution 
introduced  in  the  Massachusetts  Legislature,  in- 
structing the  adjutant-general  of  the  State  to  fur- 
nish its  senators  and  representatives  in  Congress 
with  Colt's  revolvers.  And  they  do  not  stop 
there.  These  Puritans  propose  an  appropriation 
to  send  Sumner  a  body-guard.  In  plain  words, 
they  would  commence  a  civil  war  by  arming  and 
equipping  the  patricians  and  their  followers." 

'^  Oh  !  that  Sumner  affair  [there  was  a  volley  of 
the  strong  Saxon  words  which  foreigners  catch 
so  quickly]  has  set  those  fool  Carolinians  to  vot- 
ing canes  to  Brooks." 


160  THE  MODERN  HA  GAB. 

**Yes;  hold  two  bullies  apart  and  the  devil 
coiildn'  t  wish  them  in  a  better  fighting  humor. 
Massachusetts  and  South  Carolina  raise  quarrels 
to  turn  into  their  neighbors'  grounds.  They've 
started  a  nice  brood  in  New  York — " 

"The  Softs  are  rotten  Abolitionists  at  heart 
— "  (Here  was  a  Babel  of  noise  and  interrup- 
tion, then  more  broken  x:)hrases.) 

''  Davis,  Gushing,  and  Pierce  have  no  cohesive 
attraction.  They  are  explosive  forces.  The  Ad- 
ministration would  never  have  held  together 
without  Marcy's  iron  hand — "  '^ISTonsense ! 
Jefferson  Davis  is  the  real  President ;  Pierce 
is  a  Aveak,  vacillating — "  "The  Silver  Grays 
lean  that  way.  The  coalition  Avill  make  a 
desperate  effort  to  coerce  the  convention." 
"Wiggins  won't  be  brow-beaten,  but  will  de- 
nounce Pierce.  The  cohesive  power  of  the  pub- 
lic plunder—"  "Will  attract  Ben  Butler  and 
his  following ;  he  has  this  advantage  over  Gris- 
wold,  that — "  "He  has  no  scruples,  and  he 
comes  with  a  cohort  of  rogues  and  roughs — " 
"Mce  backers  for  Sickles,  Kelley,  and  Tom 
Hyer !  He  may  do  his  level  best ;  and  then 
Pierce  and  Douglas — "  "But  Marcy's  friends 
are  a  solid  phalanx — "     "A  pretty  lot  of  fools. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  161 

Marcy  has  no  fixed  principle  or  policy.  He 
is  equally  ready  to  recognize  Walker  or  to  go  in 
partnerslii]p  with  John  Bull.  And  he  daresn't 
squeak  if  Americans  are  shot — " 
'*But  it  was  Marcy' s  suggestion — " 
"All  gammon!— as  if  the  gray-eyed  man  of 
destiny  would  be  senator  from  Nicaragua.  Such 
a  supposition  is  an  insult  to  his  future.  He  is 
the  Napoleon  of  the  coming  Central  American 
Confederation,  the  hope  of  the  Creoles  of  Cuba. 
Goicouria  is  pledged  to  him,  and  there  will 
be  no  lack  of  Anglo-Saxons  to  back  him. 
He  has  the  sympathy  of  the  United  States, 
and  a  closer  bond — tliat  of  interest.  We  see 
clearly  our  advantage  in  handling  the  products 
of  Mexican  mines,  to  say  nothing  of  the  cot- 
ton, sugar,  and  coffee  districts,  that  promise 
limitless  trade  and  profit  in  the  future.  Why, 
Walker's  success  would  in  the  end  give  us  the 
whole  of  Mexico.  We  blundered  by  not  tak- 
ing every  foot  of  it  when  we  stopped  at  the  Rio 
Grande.  The  entire  commercial  world  would 
be  benefited  by  Anglo-Saxon  domination  on  this 
continent.  Spanish- American  hybrids  are  a  fail- 
ure. Walker's  success  means  social,  political, 
and  religious  progress ;  and  we'll  have  devilish 


1G4  THE  MODERN  EA€^AR. 

zealous  partisan.  He  vehemently  cried  out : 
**Wliy,  this  Mosquito  business  is  everything 
to  the  Monroe  doctrine.  That  doctrine  is,  '  The 
American  continents,  by  the  free  and  inde- 
pendent condition  they  have  assumed  and  main- 
tained, are  henceforth  not  to  be  considered  sub- 
jects for  future  colonization  by  any  European 
powers.'  " 

A  half-derisive  yet  good-natured  laugh  at  the 
declamatory  recitation  of  the  quoted  ^'  doctrine," 
hushed  as  the  drawling  falsetto  again  claimed 
a  hearing : 

*^  Well,  my  notion  is  if  John  Bull  wants  to 
meddle  with  the  Muskeeters,  why,  let  him  take 
the  chance  of  being  stung.  He' s  thin-skinned  and 
tender,  and  he'll  get  enough  of  it  pretty  cussed 
quick.  He'll  have  to  hop  round  lively  to  come 
up  with  Walker  ;  and  when  he  does  Walker  will 
be  mighty  apt  to  play  a  lone  hand  with  Johnny. 
The  New  Nicaragua! an  has  a  fistful  of  trumps 
and  a  set  of  backers  that  won' t  care  a  continental 
damn  for  the  British  lion." 

There  was  a  rapturous  assent  to  the  sentiment 
of  this  evident  favorite.  Then  the  Marcy  advo- 
cate began : 

"  From  first  to  last  Marcy  has  admirably  man- 


JN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  165 

aged  the  Walker  affair.  There  were  complications 
and  contingencies  to  be  considered.  Palmerston, 
an  aristocrat  by  birth,  association,  and  ambition, 
is  the  natural  enemy  of  democratic  progress. 
He  is  making  masterly  moves  in  his  effort  to 
give  England  control  in  the  councils  of  the  allied 
European  powers.  His  opposition  to  Louis  Na- 
poleon's design  on  Italy  is  altogether  a  matter  of 
show%  a  polite  deference  to  the  rival  Continental 
nations.  England  and  France  are  constantly 
coming  into  closer  sympathy.  We  have  proof 
of  this  in  Washington.  The  French  minister  is 
Crampton's  friend  and  confidential  adviser.  To 
me  it  seems  evident  that  the  regulations  which 
are  harassing  American  shipping  in  French  ports 
are  due  to  the  Franco-English  alliance.  If  Ave 
get  into  a  w^ar  with  either,  the  other,  if  not  an 
active  enemy,  will  be  a  watchful  and  cold  neu- 
tral. The  Bonapartes  do  not  forget  that  the 
monarchy,  not  the  empire,  has-  claim  to  our 
gratitude ;  that  the  best  Bourbon  Louis  was 
our  first  friend.  AYe  do  not  forget  that  in 
France  a  Bonaparte  is  always  the  heir-at-law 
ot  a  defunct  republic.  The  first  emperor  taught 
us  that  even  in  the  nineteenth  century  military 
conquests  are  fatal  to  a  republic,  that  a  Caesar 


164  TEE  MODERN  HA0AR. 

zealous  partisan.  He  vehemently  cried  out : 
**Wliy,  this  Mosquito  business  is  everything 
to  the  Monroe  doctrine.  That  doctrine  is,  '  The 
American  continents,  by  the  free  and  inde- 
pendent condition  they  have  assumed  and  main- 
tained, are  henceforth  not  to.  be  considered  sub- 
jects for  future  colonization  by  any  European 
powers.'  " 

A  half-derisive  yet  good-natured  laugh  at  the 
declamatory  recitation  of  the  quoted  ^'  doctrine," 
hushed  as  the  drawling  falsetto  again  claimed 
a  hearing : 

*^Well,  my  notion  is  if  John  Bull  wants  to 
meddle  with  the  Muskeeters,  why,  let  him  take 
the  chance  of  being  stung.  He' s  thin-skinned  and 
tender,  and  he'll  get  enough  of  it  pretty  cussed 
quick.  He'll  have  to  hop  round  lively  to  come 
up  with  Walker  ;  and  when  he  does  Walker  will 
be  mighty  apt  to  play  a  lone  hand  with  Johnny. 
The  New  Mcaraguaian  has  a  fistful  of  trumps 
and  a  set  of  backers  that  won't  care  a  continental 
damn  for  the  British  lion." 

There  was  a  rapturous  assent  to  the  sentiment 
of  this  evident  favorite.  Then  the  Marcy  advo- 
cate began : 

"  From  first  to  last  Marcy  has  admirably  man- 


JN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  165 

aged  the  Walker  affair.  There  were  complications 
and  contingencies  to  be  considered.  Palmerston, 
an  aristocrat  by  birth,  association,  and  ambition, 
is  the  natural  enemy  of  democratic  progress. 
He  is  making  masterly  moves  in  his  effort  to 
give  England  control  in  the  councils  of  the  allied 
European  powers.  His  opposition  to  Louis  Na- 
poleon's design  on  Italy  is  altogether  a  matter  of 
show%  a  polite  deference  to  the  rival  Continental 
nations.  England  and  France  are  constantly 
coming  into  closer  sympathy.  We  have  proof 
of  this  in  Washington.  The  French  minister  is 
Crampton's  friend  and  confidential  adviser.  To 
me  it  seems  evident  that  the  regulations  which 
are  harassing  American  shipping  in  French  ports 
are  due  to  the  Franco-English  alliance.  If  we 
get  into  a  war  with  either,  the  other,  if  not  an 
active  enemy,  will  be  a  watchful  and  cold  neu- 
tral. The  Bonapartes  do  not  forget  that  the 
monarchy,  not  the  empire,  has-  claim  to  our 
gratitude;  that  the  best  Bourbon  Louis  was 
our  first  friend.  AVe  do  not  forget  that  in 
France  a  Bonaparte  is  always  the  heir-at-law 
oi  a  defunct  republic.  The  first  emperor  taught 
us  that  even  in  the  nineteenth  century  military 
conquests  are  fatal  to  a  republic,  that  a  Csesar 


1G6  THE  MODERN  EAOAR. 

may  bridge  with  victories  his  way  to  a  throne. 
Louis  Napoleon  will  teach  the  '  imperial  child  of 
France '  to  distrust  even  a  Western  republic  ;  to 
neglect  no  occasion  to  limit  its  bounds  and  break 
its  strength.  Upon  the  slightest  x>retext  the 
emperor  would  quickly  seize  the  Mexico  we  so 
stupidly  let  go.  Mr.  Marcy  has  a  difficult  pro- 
blem to  solve ;  but  he  is  doing,  colonel,  just 
what  you  Southerners  wish.  You  cannot  expect 
a  diplomatist  to  settle  things  with  the  audacity 
and  rapidity  with  which  an  Arkansian  cuts  his 
way  out  of  a  difficulty?" 

The  tone  expressed  a  question,  and  there  was 
a  courteous  i)ause  for  assent.  The  drawling  an- 
swer was  of  itself  a  slow  disclaimer  of  undue 
haste. 

*'  Arkansaw  diplomacy  is  a  different  thing  from 
the  civilized  article.  It  don' t  turn  its  back  on 
friend  or  foe.  It  has  learnt  one  frontier  lesson 
which  is  worth  knowing— that  the  best  way  out 
of  a  quarrel  is  never  to  dodge  fighting,  and  when 
you  do  go  in  be  cool  but  quick.  Bowie-knives 
are  good  weapons,  and  mighty  reliable  at  close 
quarters  ;  but  the  fellow  who  has  a  pair  of 
healthy  derringers,  and  shoots  recklessly  from 
his  coat-tail  pockets  without  caring  for  the  holes 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  107 

he  makes  in  tlie  cloth,  vnR  lay  out  his  enemy 
handsomer  than  a  slasher  can." 

A  clear  voice,  with  that  distinct  enunciation 
which  proves  breeding  as  unmistakably  as  will 
tlie  ears  and  pasterns  of  a  racer,  asked : 

"Colonel,  x^lease  teir  us  something  of  that 
fight  out  in  the  Indian  Territory  this  spring— 
the  fight  where  the  odds  ag-ainst  jow  were  so 
heavy.  I  am  sure  we  are  all  ready  to  cut  poli- 
tics after  a  day  of  constant  discussion.  This  is 
just  tlie  hour  for  a  story  like  that.  It  will  peo- 
ple the  twilight  with  ghosts." 

*'Well,  we  made  ghosts  of  some  of  them 
sneaks,  and  I've  been  sorry  ever  since  we  didn't 
get  the  balance.  I  will  tell  you  of  tliat  fight, 
Charley  ;  for  it  proves  w^hat  I  was  just  saying 
to  Mr.  Marcy's  friend  about  the  good  sense  of 
not  dodging." 

He  took  a  fresh  glass  of  the  sparkling  Cataw- 
ba and  began: 

"  I  was  up  in  Kansas  this  spring  just  after  the 
crops  got  fairly  growing.  The  trouble  there  was 
by  ordinary.  What  with  the  bother  on' the  Mis- 
souri border  and  watching  the  Delawares,  who 
were  swearing  vengeance  for  the  murder  of  one 
of  their  tribe  who  was  shot  by  a  Lawrence  mob 


168  TEE  MODERN  HAG  AH. 

just  out  of  Simon-pure  deviltry,  everything  was 
going  to  the  bad  and  the  corn  was  4n  the 
grass.' 

'*  This  was  hard  on  me,  for  I  had  settled  a 
place  up  there  with  Tom  Sykes,  and  had  sent  up 
six  of  my  likeliest  hands  to  raise  corn  enough 
to  run  my  Arkansaw  Eiver  plantation.  I  had 
left  everything  flourishing  at  home.  The  cotton 
was  safe,  so  the  crop  to  see  to  was  the  com.  As 
I  told  you,  I  found  the  devil  to  pay. 

' '  Some  wool-stealing  thieves,  who  had  been 
run  out  of  Ohio  by  the  people  they  were  keep- 
ing sheej)  for,  had  come  to  Kansas  and  set  up 
in  the  business  of  missionary  '  Free-Soilers.'  Ask 
old  David  Tod  about  them  ;  he  knew  the  lot. 

"Beechers  Church  had  sent  out  a  cargo  of 
Bibles  and  Sharpens  rilles  as  the  stock-in-trade 
of  the  joint  concern.  It  was  to  be  a  Western 
revival  of  Puritan  ways.  If  the  sinners  didn't 
listen  to  their  way  of  reading  Scripture,  what  so 
good  as  rifles  to  finish  the  argument  ?  Not  alto- 
gether a  new  method  of  teaching  theology,  but 
effective.  The  logic  of  forcible  conversion  is 
quite  as  easy  to  understand  as  Mr.  Marcy's  di- 
plomacy. 

"One  of  the  missionary  sharp-shooting  shep- 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR,  169 

herds,  a  tract- distributing,  perambulating  Chad- 
band,  had  been  tampering  with  our  hands,  and 
Tom  had  him  chased  off  the  place.  A  short  time 
after — it  was  three  days  before  I  got  there — Tom 
was  shot  at  from  a  thicket  of  undergrowth  near 
the  road  as  he  was  coming  home  late  in  the  even- 
ing from  Lawrence.  One  ballet  went  through 
his  arm  and  three  grazed  his  horse,  which  luckily 
sent  the  racer  home  in  a  dead  run. 

"The  neighbors  and  a  posse  from  Lawrence 
organized  a  hunt  for  the  murdering  thieves.  Two 
days  after  I  reached  Tom's  place  news  came  that 
the  hunters  had  struck  the  trail  and  were  run- 
ning a  hot  chase.  Tom  was  doing  well,  and  his 
brothers  and  two  young  fellows  from  Mississippi 
were  staying  with  him,  so  I  could  safely  be 
spared. 

''The  hunt  was  over  in  the  Ozark  hills,  not 
much  out  of  the  way  I  had  intended  to  take 
going  home.  I  had  to  see  a  half-breed  cattle- 
trader  with  whom  I  had  had  dealings,  who  lived 
on  the  south  bank  of  the  Osage,  so  I  thought  to 
see  the  catching  and  hanging  of  the  rascals,  and 
then  go  down  the  Osage  Elver  to  the  Arkansaw. 

"A  trader  from  Memphis,  named  Forrest,  had 
come  to  Tom's  the  night  before  I  left  there.     He 


170  THE  3I0DERN  11  AGAR. 

had  some  army  contracts,  and  was  on  his  way 
from  Leavenworth  to  Fort  Gibson.  He  was  a 
muscular,  why  chaj^,  steady-nerved,  and  quick, 
with  a  straightforward  look  and  a  sort  of  light- 
ning flash  of  the  eye  that  told  of  pluck  you 
could  depend  on  in  a  squall,  so  I  was  not  sorry 
my  road  lay  alongside  bis. 

*'We  two  started  at  daybreak.  That  evening 
we  met  up  with  the  Lawrence  ^^^^e  on  their  way 
home.  They  had  lost  the  trail  of  the  wool-steal- 
ers,  and  the  Indians  over  on  the  hills  either 
couldn't  or  wouldn^t  lielj)  them  find  it,  so  they 
had  given  up  the  chase.  A  half-breed  had  told 
them  some  story  of  three  men  heading  for  a  camp 
of  raiders  who  had  been  out  in  the  Sioux  coun- 
try, but  they  thought  he  Avas  lying. 

'*We  camx)ed  together  that  night.  The  next 
day  the  posse  started  for  Lawrence.  I  went  on 
to  the  Osage  with  Forrest.  We  crossed  to  the 
south  bank,  saw  my  cattle-dealer,  and  then  made 
for  Fort  Gibson. 

"The  evening  we  got  to  the  ford,  a  few  miles 
above  Fort  Gibson,  it  was  already  dark.  The 
wind  was  shifting  and  heavy  clouds  were  sweep- 
ing u])  from  the  West.  My  horse  had  gone  dead 
lame  and  Forrest  felt  a  chill  coming  on.      He 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  171 

had  had  the  *  shakes '  all  spring.  Taken  by  and 
large,  we  were  in  a  bad  ^il  ;  and  you  may  be  sure 
we  were  not  sorry  when  we  saw  the  light  from  a 
cabin  near  the  bridle-path  we  had  struck  at  the 
ford. 

*^  As  we  turned  a  corner  into  a  narrow  lane  a 
hill  loomed  up  above  the  cabin,  and  lights  were 
shining  from  the  windows  of  a  big  house  on  the 
hill-top.  The  cabin-door  was  open,  and  a  blazing- 
pine  knot  lit  the  room  and  the  porch,  where  a 
little  girl  was  trying  to  see  who  was  '  helloing ' 
in  the  dark.  My  horse  was  so  dead  beat  I  had 
got  off  and  was  leading  him  ;  so  I  waited  in  the 
path  while  Forrest  rode  u})  to  the  fence  and  ask- 
ed, '  Can  we  stay  here  all  night  ?  I  have  a  chill 
coming  on,  and  my  friend's  horse  is  too  lame  to 
go  on  to  Fort  Gibson.'  An  Indian  had  come  out 
and  stood  by  the  child.  Inside  I  could  see  a 
huge  fellow  stumping  around  upon  crutches. 

' '  I  thought  it  one  of  the  half-breed  settlements 
so  common  near  the  forts  ;  but  the  child's  first 
word — and  she  was  the  only  speaker — contradict- 
ed that  notion.  She  answered  Forrest  in  a  con- 
founded sight  better  English  than  I  speak,  and 
she  had  the  strangest,  queerest,  prettiest  manner, 
so  ladylike  in  modesty,  so  soldierlike  in  frank- 


172  THE  MODERN  HA6AR. 

ness,  that  it  set  me  grinning  out  in  the  dark  at 
the  eifect  upon  Forrest.  He  had  taken  off  his 
hat  and  was  holding  it  in  his  hand,  utterly  un- 
conscious of  himself  or  of  anything  but  her.  Mr. 
Marcy's  friend  talks  about  the  'imperial  child 
of  France.'  I  tell  you  the  child  standing  on  that 
rough  cabin  porch  in  the  blaze  of  the  yellow- 
light  wood  looked  and  talked  like  she  might 
have  been  a  child  of  Julius  Csesar.  She  said  her 
^father  was  not  at  home,  but  that  Bouie's  Hill 
was  always  open  to  neighbor  or  stranger'  ;  that 
we  were 'welcome.'  Then  to  the  Indian  :  'Open 
the  gate,  my  chief,  and  please  call  Mead  to  take 
the  horses ;  Pike  will  see  what  can  be  done  for 
the  lame  one.  If  you  will  come  with  me,  gentle- 
men, I  will  show  you  the  path  up  the  hill. 
Good-night,  Pike  ;  good-night,  my  chief.'  After 
giving  her  hand  to  each  she  led  the  way  up  and 
into  a  large,  comfortable  room,  where  we  found 
two  ladies  and  three  children. 

"  Our  little  hostess  introduced  us  to  '  my  step- 
mother, Mrs.  Leszinksky,  and  my  friend  Mrs. 
Carson.'  The  stepmother  was  a  pale,  delicate 
woman  of  mixed  blood.  Mrs.  Carson  was  a  pure 
Seminole.  There  seemed  to  be  no  great  love 
between  the  stepmother  and  our  little  princess ; 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR-  173 

yet  it  could  not  have  been  prejudice  against  the 
Indian  blood  of  the  stepmother,  for  no  feeling 
could  have  been  stronger  than  the  child's  friend- 
ship for  Mrs.  Carson  and  the  chief,  as  you  will 
see. 

^'From  the  moment  she  spoke  to  us  on  the 
porch  of  the  cabin  we  were  in  love  with  our 
princess.  She  had  bewitched  Forrest,  and  evi- 
dently her  high  mightiness  had  taken  to  him. 

"Forrest's  chill  and  my  lame  horse  kept  us 
two  days  at  Bcuie's  Hill.  Captain  Carson  had 
come,  and  with  him  a  scout — a  rough  border 
fellow,  but  a  famous  good  fighter,  mucli  made 
of  by  all  at  Bouie's  Hill,  and  a  special  favorite 
of  our  princess.  He  told  us  the  baby  adven- 
tures of  the  gracious  little  lady  he  called 
'Cap'n  Rue'  ;  how  she  was  captured  by  the 
Indians,  and  saved  from  death  and  restored  to 
her  family  by  the  *Big  Chief.' 

"The  third  night,  Charley,"  and  the  speaker 
nodded  at  the  gentleman  who  had  asked  for 
the  story,  "the  night  before  we  were  to  start 
on  to  Fort  Gibson,  came  the  scrimmage  of  which 
you  wished  me  to  tell  you. 

"  A  company  of  frontier  rowdies  and  roughs, 
with  the  usual  sprinkling  of  jail-birds,  had  been 


174  THE  310 BERN  11  AGAR. 

out  on  tlie  border  of  the  Territory.  The  pre- 
tence was  a  reported  raid  of  the  Comanches,  but 
the  truth  was  they  were  hanging  and  shooting 
inoffensive,  friendly  Indians. 

^'NoAv,  I  don't  spin  in  on  philanthropy  ;  and 
I  don' t  believe  an  Indian  is  the  equal  of  a  white 
man,  or  that  he  is  fit  to  govern  the  country.  I 
am  not  ready  to  accept  Doctor  Clarendon's  gratis 
prescription  ;  for  only  a  quack  in  statesmanshij) 
would  suggest  savages  as  legislators.  He  had 
better  try  his  notion  in  some  English  annex  in 
Asia  or  Australia  before  ajDplying  for  an  Ameri- 
can patent.  If  the  savages  England  has  con- 
quered don't  take  kindly  to  his  pills  he  might 
try  them  on  Ireland.  Why,  the  Irish  would 
swallow  all  the  self-government  the  British  min- 
istry could  manufacture  from  now  until  the 
millennium. 

"But  to  get  back  to  our  mutton.  I  feel 
bound  to  say  we  have  damnably  overdone  the 
killing  and  stealing  business  in  our  dealings 
with  the  Indian  tribes.  Believing  that,  and 
having  a  personal  feeling  of  liking  for  the 
folks  I  was  staying  with,  I  was  ready  to  put 
my  hide  between  one  particular  Indian  and  a 
set  of  thieves  and  cut-throats. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  175 

''It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  tlie  morning 
when  a  sound  of  shot,  a  rush  on  the  joorch, 
and  a  shouting  in  the  house  wakened  me.  For- 
rest was  sleeping  in  the  same  room.  In  less 
time  than  I  can  tell  it  we  got  into  our  boots 
and  breeches  and  were  in  the  hall,  revolvers  in 
hand. 

''Captain  Carson  was  barring  the  front  door, 
and  some  negro  fellows  were  nailing  up  the 
windows  and  the  back  door  of  the  hall.  Un- 
der the  hall-lamp  stood  the  Indian  chief  and 
Stearns,  the  scout ;  they  were  breathing  like 
men  who  had  had  a  sharp  run.  Blood  was 
dropping  from  the  scout's  arm  and  running 
down  the  side  of  the  chief's  face,  where  a  ball 
had  cut  an  ugly  gash.  Standing  with  them  in 
her  night-dress  and  bare  feet  was  our  little  prin- 
cess. She  was  holding  the  Indian's  hand  and 
listening  intently  to  something  he  was  saying. 
The  doors  leading  to  the  rooms  each  side  of 
the  long  hall  were  open,  and  women  and  chil- 
dren were  running  hurriedly  from  room  to  room. 

"Forrest  called  Stearns  and  asked,  'What  is 
ih^Q  matter  ? '  It  seemed  then,  and  it  seems  yet, 
that  somehow  I  half  expected  his  ansAver: 
'Them    scoundrels    that's    been    out    a-stealin' 


1 76  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

bosses  and  a-killin'  i^eaceable  Injuns  are  'round 
the  house  and  a-swearin'  they're  going  to  hang 
the  Big  Chief.'  I  saw  the  child  throw  her  arms 
about  the  Indian  and  turn  to  listen  as  Stearns 
went  on.  'I'd  hearn  of  tlie  devil-seivin'  gang 
upon  the  Osage,  and  when  I  waked  with  the 
noise  of  the  hosses'  feet  in  the  stony  lane  I 
thought  most  like  it  was  them.  I  knowed  thar 
was  a  old  spite  all  'long  the  frontier  agin  the 
Big  Chief,  so  I  called  him  and  started  with  him 
to  the  fort.  But  it  was  too  late ;  the  bloody 
varmints  was  all  'round  Pike's  house.  To  break 
through  and  get  here  we  had  to  run  a  reg'lar 
gauntlet.  We  couldn't  a-got  twenty  yards  if 
we'd  a-kept  on  to  the  fort.  I  saw  our  on'y 
chance  was  a  sudden  turn  up  the  hill  through 
the  orchard,  whar  they  wahn't  expectin'  us.  As 
'twas  they  did  cussed  poor  shootin',  or  we'd 
a-never  got  here  alive.' 

"I  asked  'if  he  was  much  hurt.'  He  said: 
'No,  it's  on'y  a  skin-cut  in  my  left  arm;  the 
Big  Chief  got  the  Avust  of  it.'  The  child  looked 
up  at  the  Indian's  face  and  then  ran  into  the 
nearest  room.  As  soon  as  she  was  gone  the 
chief  sat  down  on  the  floor,  and  Stearns  lowered 
his  voice  as  he  continued  :   '  When  them  villains 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  177 

called  to  Cap'n  Carson  to  give  np  tlie  Injim  and 
they'd  make  no  more  trouble  tlie  chief  started 
right  out  thar.  Mrs.  Leszinksky  told  him  he'd 
better  go;  that  'twould  save  the  lives  of  the 
balance.  But  Cap'n  Rue  said,  when  Cap'n  Car- 
son tried  to  stop  the  chief  and  he  would  go  on, 
that  if  he  went  out  thar  she  would  go  with 
him.  He  knowed  and  we  knowed  she'd  a  done 
it,  for  thar  was  never  a  real  Leszinksky  yet 
that  left  a  friend  in  trouble.  And  her  mo- 
ther was  the  bravest  lady  that  ever  set  foot  on 
the  frontier ;  but  she  is  in  heaven,  and  this  Mrs. 
Leszinksky  is  different  stock.  The  chief  saw 
that  if  he  kept  on  he'd  take  Cap'n  Rue  and 
the  balance  of  us  right  into  trouble,  so  he 
promised  her  to  stay  by  Cap'n  Carson  and 
obey  orders.  I'm  feared  we'll  have  a  bloody 
fight,  sir,  before  we  get  through.  Thar's  nigh 
on  to  two  hundred  o'  them  hell-hounds.  I 
wouldn't  mind  the  odds  if  it  wahn't  for  the  wo- 
men and  children.  I've  fit  with  Cap'n  Carson, 
and  the  Big  Chief,  and  Oscar  before.  I  know 
they'll  do  all  men  kin  do  ;  and  I'm  sure  we  kin 
count  on  you  two  gentlemen.  I  kin  pretty 
much  tell  how  a  man' 11  fight  when  I  see  his 
mouth  shut  and  his  eyes  ablaze.'     He  looked  at 


178  THE  MODERN  EAGAR. 

Forrest,  and  so  did  I ;  and  I  knew  I  saw  a  man 
that  no  odds  in  a  fight  and  no  storm  of  battle 
could  make  quail. 

''  You  may  tell  me  of  Berserker  madness  and 
the  deeds  of  demigods,  but  I  would  back  a 
Western  Anglo-American,  when  he  is  in  a  rage 
at  some  wrong,  against  any  son  of  Adam  or  the 
gods  that  ever  struck  at  an  enemy. 

"  The  child  came  back  with  a  sheet  she  was 
tearing  into  strips.  Forrest  looked  at  her  as 
Yirginius  looks  in  tlie  x^h^-y  when  he  turns  from 
the  judge  to  his  daughter.  The  red  light  in  his 
eyes  went  out  in  mist,  and  he  helped  the  child 
with  the  deftness  of  a  surgeon  and  the  kindli- 
ness of  a  woman.  Together  they  bound  up 
the  chiefs  cuts  and  stanched  the  bleeding. 

*'  The  child's  courage  was  as  cool  as  Forrest's. 
Neither  of  tliem  seemed  to  hear  the  yells  and 
devilish  oatlis  of  the  demons  wlio  were  calling 
for  the  rendition  of  the  Indian,  and  threatening 
fire  and  sword  if  he  was  not  given  up.  Carson 
was  giving  orders  to  the  negroes  and  getting 
ready  for  the  villains  all  the  time  he  parleyed 
with  them. 

"Oscar  had  brought  me  all  the  weapons  in  the 
house,   and  Stearns  and  I  were    cleaning    and 


JN  TUE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  179 

loading  tliem  as  fast  as  we  could.  There  were 
four  double-barrelled  hunting-pieces,  that  we 
loaded  with  buckshot,  and  three  rifles,  two  of 
them  these  new-fangled  breech-loaders.  Carson 
and  the  scout  had  their  revolvers,  so  had  Forrest 
and  I.  Besides  the  shooting-irons  there  were 
three  sabres  and  a  half-dozen  new  axes.  You 
see  with  six  fighting  men  tliese  weapons  were 
equal  to  an  undrilled  mob.  I  would  a-felt 
mighty  comfortable  if  it  hadn't  a-been  for  the 
women  and  children. 

"My  only  fear  was  that  the  murdering  thieves 
would  set  fire  to  the  house,  as  they  threatened, 
but  Carson  seemed  sure  they  would  not.  He 
said  :  '  They  knew  that  woidd  alarm  the  fort 
and  bring  every  able-bodied  man  in  the  garri- 
son to  Bouie's  Hill.'  Then  I  asked  if  we  could 
not  signal  the  fort  or  send  a  messenger.  The 
answer  was,  '  JSTo ;  that  the  wind  was  blowing 
from  the  fort,  and  even  the  firing  was  un- 
heard ;  that  Stearns  and  the  Indian  would  have 
got  through  to  the  fort  liad  that  been  possible.' 
To  which  Stearns  added:  'Thar  isn't  a  gap 
wliar  a  weasel  could  get  past—that  is,  thar  wahn't 
when  me  and  the  Big  Chief  came  up.  But  if 
the  cap'n  will  let  me  try  it  alone,  I'm  'mighty 


180  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

willin'.  Thar  sjDite  seems  to  be  agin  nothin'  but 
Injuns  ;  and  may  be  I  could  get  through  without 
thar  liurtin'  me  so  I'd  be  stopped.'  Here  our 
princess  ^put  in  her  word.  I  tell  you  that  child 
was  cooler  than  I  was.  She  asked  Carson  if 
Oscar  couldn'  t  go,  saying :  *  He  runs  like  a 
deer,  and  you  know  Bob  is  a  slow  runner.  Os- 
car can  clear  every  fence  on  the  place  in  a  run- 
ning jump.  It's  down  hill  in  the  start,  and  he 
could  get  to  the  fort  in  ten  minutes.  It  is  only  a 
mile  and  a  half.  Why,  I  could  make  the  dis- 
tance in  fifteen  minutes.' 

"Oscar  was  not  only  willing,  but  he  begged 
leave  to  go.  Carson  again  said :  '  IS'o ;  the 
chances  would  be  a  hundred  to  one  that  any 
man  leaving  the  house  would  be  shot  the  in- 
stant he  was  outside.  If  Oscar  escaped  death 
he  would  be  captured,  and  we  would  lose  one  of 
our  force ;  and  you  will  soon  see  we  have  not  a 
man  to  spare.' 

"The  raiders  were  louder  and  more  violent  in 
their  threats.  Carson  recommenced  a  parley, 
and  begged  them  '  to  respect  the  home  and  the 
family  of  a  brave  officer  who  was  out  on  the 
plains  in  their  service.'  They  yelled  back: 
'  Send  out  the  Indian.'     He  told  them  '  the  chief 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF^  WAR.  18L 

was  wounded,'  wMcli  did  not  quiet  tlie  liell- 
liounds.  They  insisted  tbat  tliey  be  let  iinisli 
tlieir  work,  and  they  would  go ;  v/hile  other 
voices  in  the  crowd  called,  '  Hang  the  white  rene-" 
gade  who  married  Wild  Cat's  daughter.  Hang 
him  and  the  squaw  with  her  half-breed  children! ' 
Then  for  the  first  time  our  princess  paled  ;  even 
her  scarlet  lips  lost  their  color  as  she  looked  at 
Mrs.  Carson,  who  was  standing  in  one  of  the 
bed-room  doors,  with  her  two  boys  beside  her. 
The  child  started  to  go  to  Mrs.  Carson ;  then, 
turning  back,  she  motioned  to  the  chief,  who 
stooped  to  hear  her  whispered  words.  After  a 
moment's  speech  she  put  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  kissed  the  stern  face,  which  was  half 
covered  with  bloody  bandages.  Again  she  whis- 
pered, and  it  was  evident  he  had  yielded  to  her 
entreaty  and  made  a  reluctant  promise.  When 
they  parted  the  child  was  silently  weeping,  and 
the  Indian's  eyes  followed  her  through  a  mist 
of  unshed  tears. 

*'  By  this  time  our  preparations  were  complete. 
I  think  I  explained  how  the  house  was  built. 
There  was  a  long  central  hall,  from  which  the 
rooms  opened  on  each  side.  Across  the  entire 
front  of  the  house  was  a  broad,  low-railed  piazza. 


18'^  THE  MODERN  II AGAR 

There  was  a  narrow  porch  at  the  back  hall-door, 
which  connected  with  a  covered  passage-way- 
leading  to  the  kitchen.  All  of  the  windows  of 
the  house  had  strong,  solid  oak  shutters ;  only 
the  large  store-room  in  the  end  of  the  house 
nearest  the  kitchen  had  no  window.  Because 
of  that  Carson  made  it  the  citadel  of  defence, 
and  provided  for  the  attack  by  sending  there 
the  women  and  children.  The  door  of  this 
store-room  was  exactly  opposite  the  door  of  the 
dining-room,  in  which  were  gathered  the  servants 
of  the  family.  The  young  negro  boys  and  one 
old  man  were  given  axes  with  which  to  defend 
the  windows  from  assault.  Across  the  hall  we 
had  built  a  barrier,  made  of  all  the  heavy  furni- 
ture and  the  mattresses,  which  cut  off  the  dining- 
room  and  the  store-room  from  the  front  of  the 
house.  At  the  side  next  to  the  dining-room  door 
was  a  narrow  opening  in  the  barricade  through 
which  we  could  pass  to  the  front  part  of  the  hall 
and  the  rooms  that  opened  there. 

"We  were  fairly  ready  for  the  enemy  when 
we  heard  a  rush  of  running  feet  and  the  end 
of  a  heavy  log  came  crashing  through  the  panels 
of  the  double  door  wiiich  Carson  had  so  secure- 
ly barred.     But  for  that  work  the  doors  would 


IN  THE  GATEWA  Y  OF  WAR.  183 

have  gone  entirely.  As  the  panels  gave  way 
there  was  an  exultant  yell,  and  we  could  see  a 
moving  crowd  out  in  the  clear  starlight. 

^'I  was  in  doubt  if  Carson  would  be  the  first 
to  begin  the  fight ;  but  I  was  not  left  long  in 
doubt.  I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  the  threat- 
ened murder  of  his  wife  and  boys  wdien  the  low- 
spoken  order  was  given :  '  Fire  the  rifies  at  the 
crowd  out  in  the  open  space  where  the  light  is 
clear.  Sw-eep  the  porch  with  the  buckshot. 
Now — fire  ! ' 

''It  Avas  a  deadly  volley.  The  rifle-balls  cut 
into  the  crowd,  while  the  guns  cleared  the  porch 
in  front  of  the  shattered  door.  Five  still  bodies 
were  lying  by  the  log  that  had  dropped  from 
lifeless  hands.  There  were  cries  and  groans  as 
the  stricken  mob  parted  to  the  right  and  left, 
and  a  few  poor  wounded  wretches  crawled  away. 

''There  were  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  of  al- 
most dead  quiet— to  us  it  seemed  hours.  Mrs. 
Carson  came  for  her  husband :  '  Mrs.  Leszink- 
sky  was  in  violent  hysterics,'  and  something 
was  whispered  in  an  undertone  of  'Rue' — what 
we  could  not  hear.  The  Indian  and  Stearns 
were  in  a  room  to  the  right  of  the  front  door, 
cautiously  peering  through  a  crack  in  the  shut- 


184  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

ters.  Behind  tlie  broken  panels  and  the  guard 
of  unbroken  bars  Forrest  and  I  were  watching 
for  the  enemy. 

*'Very  soon  after  Carson  left  us  we  heard 
him,  in  a  low,  cautious  tone,  call  '  Oscar ! ' 

*'Then,  after  a  few  more  of  those  long  watch- 
ing minutes,  Carson  came  to  us  with  the  worst 
scared  face  I  ever  saw  a  brave  man  wear.  He 
said  something  to  Stearns  about  watching  from 
the  windows  ;  and  then,  i3ulling  the  door  shut 
upon  the  Indian  and  the  scout,  that  they  might 
not  hear,  he  said  to  Forrest  and  me :  '  E-ue  has 
gone  to  the  fort.'  I  sprang  to  the  door.  For- 
rest, already  there,  was  wrenching  out  the  broken 
panels,  that  we  might  pass,  when  Carson  begged 
us  to  stop  and  listen.  'Wait  but  one  instant,' 
he  said,  '  then  we  will  charge  the  scoundrels.  I 
must  tell  you  how  Rue  went,  and  in  Avhat  direc- 
tion we  must  drive  the  mob.' 

"  The  story  was  soon  told.  Rue  had  climbed 
into  the  garret  through  an  ojpening  from  the 
ceiling  of  the  store-room.  Her  stepmother  and 
two  negro  women  were  in  the  store-room  at  the 
time,  but  they  supposed  she  had  gone  to  watch 
from  a  small  window  that  opened  on  the  roof  of 
the  back  porch.    Mrs.  Leszinksky  had  called  to 


IN  THE  GATEWA  V  OF  WAB.  185 

her  to  be  cautious  or  some  one  outside  would 
discover  the  window  ;  but  Rue  leaned  down  and 
said  softly :  ^  When  Tncle  Billy  comes  tell  him 
I  have  gone' — she  still  supposed  the  child  meant 
only  to  the  window.  Just  then  the  attack  be- 
gan;  and  in  her  fright,  with  her  own  child 
crying  in  her  arms,  Mrs.  Leszinksky  forgot  it  all 
until  after  the  firing  had  ceased  and  Mrs.  Car- 
son, coming  from  the  barricade,  asked  for  Rue. 
They  both  called,  but  there  was  no  answering 
sound  from  the  garret.  Mrs.  Carson  brought 
her  husband,  who  climbed  into  the  loft  and 
found  the  child  had  gone.  Telling  us  the  story, 
he  said:  'The  window  was  open.  It  is  a  low, 
wide  sash,  completely  hidden  from  sight  of  any 
one  below  by  the  trellised  poich,  w^hich  is  close- 
ly covered  with  vines  that  are  trained  over  the 
arched  gable  of  the  roof  of  the  house.  Xo  one 
could  have  seen  her  on  the  porch  or  the  roof  of 
the  covered  passage.  But  she  must  have  crawled 
over  the  roof  of  the  kitchen  and  gone  down  the 
chimney,  which  is  built  of  sticks  and  clay,  and 
which,  for  her  light  weight,  would  be  a  secure 
footing,  at  the  very  moment  they  made  that  rush 
at  the  front  door.  They  were  probably  on  the 
back    porch    directly  under   the  child,   and  so 


1 86  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

neglected  to  watch  the  path  to  the  deep  ravii^A 
That  was  why  she  got  through  it  and  over  t)ie 
creek  safely — for  I  think  she  is  safe.  From  the 
roof  of  the  porch  I  saw  a  flying  little  figure  on 
the  ridge  beyond  the  creek  vanish  out  of  the 
starlight  into  the  shadow  of  the  wood  near  the 
fort.  To  make  sure  that  it  was  Rue,  and  that 
she  is  safe,  Oscar  will  follow  her.  I  ordered  him 
to  wait  until  we  charged  here  to  draw  attention 
to  this  side  of  the  house ;  then  he  can  risk 
crossing  the  kitchen-roof  and  drojDping  into  the 
path.  Fortunately,  the  scoundrels  are  massed 
over  in  the  orchard.  We  will  charge  them  there 
and  draw  the  eyes  of  their  sentries  away  from 
the  ravine.  Only  do  not  tell  Stearns  or  the  In- 
dian that  Rue  has  gone.  I  could  do  nothing  with 
either  of  them.  The  chief  would  simply  throw 
his  life  aAvay.  Mrs.  Leszinksky's  taunt,  that 
to  save  his  life  he  was  risking  the  family  of 
his  benefactor,  has  stung  him  past  endurance.' 
''Carson  left  two  of  the  •  young  negroes  to 
guard  the  door,  ordering  them  if  attacked  to 
hold  it  as  long  as  they  could.  Mrs.  Carson  and 
her  boys  were  behind  the  barricade,  guns  in 
hand.  Carson  went  to  them  for  a  moment.  I 
saw  him  kiss  the  boys  and  press  their  mother 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  187 

to  Ms  heart.  Then  he  called  Stearns  and  the 
chief,  and  we  charged  through  the  door  into  the 
crowd  massed  on  the  end  of  the  piazza  and  un- 
der the  trees  near  by. 

''If  you  could  but  have  seen  Forrest! 

"I  can  never  tell  you  just  how  we  fought 
that  fight. 

"  First  we  gave  them  a  volley  from  rifles  and 
guns.  Then  we  rushed  into  the  thick  of  the 
crowd  with  clubbed  weapons. 

''You  can  call  it  what  you  like,  chance  or 
Providence ;  but  some  special  power,  greater 
th^n  man's,  fought  for  us  and  turned  the  lire 
of  the  scoundrels  upon  each  other.  For  when 
they  were  driven  down  the  hill  there  were  over 
a  score  of  corpses  and  twice  that  number  of 
wounded  and  dying  men  in  the  house  and  on 
the  grounds  of  Bouie's  Hill. 

"  Our  losses  were  not  many,  but  they  were 
grievous  to  be  borne.  A  party  of  the  raiders 
got  into  the  house.  The  Big  Chief  and  Stearns, 
watching  for  the  safety  of  the  household  and 
the  child  they  believed  there,  followed  them. 
We  heard  cries  of  rage  and  defiance,  a  v/o- 
man's  shriek  of  agony,  and  the  ring  of  an  In- 
dian war-whoop.      Leaving  the  flying   cowards 


188  THE  MODFP.y  HAGAR. 

we  were  driving  before  us,  we  ran  back  to  the 
house. 

''Murder  was  at  work  in  the  hall.  We  were 
too  late  to  save,  but  not  to  avenge.  "We  had 
our  revolvers  and  bowie-knives,  and  we  made 
short  work  of  it. 

"But  Mrs.  Carson  was  shot  through  the 
heart ;  her  youngest  boy  was  lying  dead  beside 
her.  An  old  white-haired  negro  had  been  brain- 
ed in  the  dining-room.  There  were  others  with 
slight  wounds.  Mrs.  Leszinksky  had  fastened 
the  door  of  the  store-room,  and,  although  safe 
within  it,  was  shrieking  like  a  madwoman.  In 
her  frantic  fear  for  her  own  child  and  for  her- 
self she  had  fastened  the  door  and  so  cut  off 
Mrs.  Carson  and  her  boys  from  their  last  place 
of  safety.  Forrest  tried  in  vain  to  make  her 
understand  that  the  danger  was  over. 

"I  left  Carson  and  his  wounded  boy  with 
the  dead  mother  and  son,  and  I  went  to  where 
Stearns  was  kneeling  beside  the  Indian,  wlio 
had  at  least  a  dozen  bullets  in  his  body.  Just 
then  I  heard  a  fresh  trampling  on  the  porch,  and, , 
turning  to  face  the  enemy,  saw  the  troopers  from 
tlie  fort  as  a  slight  little  figure  with  a  wan,  grief- 
stricken  face  flitted  past  me  in  the  gray  dawn. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  139 

''There  was  a  pitiful  wail,  'O  my  chief!  my 
chief ! '  followed  by  a  child' s  passionate  sobbing, 
and  '  Captain  Eue '  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of 
the  Indian,  who,  struggling  to  rise,  caught  her, 
and,  pressing  her  to  his  heart,  fell  back  dead." 


CHAPTER  XV. 


"  See !  on  my  bauds  this  freshening  gore 
Writes  o'er  again  its  crimson  proof!  " 


THE  teller  of  the  story  and  his  audience  were 
gone— all  but  tlie  unseen  listener  in  the 
adjoining  room,  who  had  put  aside  his 
writing  when  the  story  was  aslied  for. 

During  the  recital  the  changes  in  his  coun- 
tenance would  liave  told  to  a  physiognomist  a 
different  story  from  the  one  he  lieard.  There 
was  the  eagerness  of  a  personal  interest  in 
his  eyes  and  the  pallor  of  a  white  terror  on 
his  face. 

When  the  story  ended  a  question  was  asked, 
to  which  he  listened  witli  indrawn  breath.  The 
question  had  not  been  answered ;  the  rei)ly  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  new-comers,  by 
complaints  of  the  difficulty  in  finding  quar- 
ters, and  a  general  move  to  the  office  to  inter- 
vieAv  the  genial  autocrat  who  then  ruled  the 
fortunes  of  the  ''Burnet." 

The  twilight  had  closed   in    dusky  shadows 

190 


IN  TITE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  191 

within  the  deserted  committee-room.  Outside 
the  lamps  of  the  street  were  lit ;  but  the  servant 
who  had  come  to  light  the  gas  had  been  sent 
away  by  the  listener,  who  wished"  ' '  the  twi- 
light peopled  with  ghosts.'' 

Hartley  turned  with  a  shudder  to  where  the 
street-jets  flickered  in  broken  lines  across  the 
balcony,  as  he  remembered  the  phrase.  He" 
dropped  into  a  chair  near  an  open  window, 
and,  notwithstanding  his  effort  to  master 
thought,  he  was  haunted  by  a  vague  shadow 
of  the  past.  The  ghosts  would  come.  He  had 
neither  the  courage  nor  the  strength  to  ban- 
ish those  intangible,  outline  spectres  of  the 
phases  through  which  he  had  passed  in  that 
easy  descent  to  the  hell  where  he  now  was. 

Tangled  in  the  Aveb  of  his  broken  combina- 
tions, with  a  burning  sense  of  shame  for  crime 
and  rage  at  its  defeat.  Hartley  believed  he 
would  far  rather  ha.ve  encountered  palpable 
personal  ghosts,  than  these  dim  creations  of  re- 
morseful fear.  Looking  back  through  the  vista 
whence  he  had  come,  he  could  see  that  he  had 
cheated  himself  in  the  game  of  life. 

''Curses  were  coming  home  to  roost"  ;  wrongs 
were  returning  "to  plague  the  inventor." 


192  "TUB  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Fortune  had  been  lavish  of  gifts  ;  and  that  lie 
had  undervalued  the  greater  and  overvalued  the 
less  had  not  been  counted  against  him.  The 
lioarded  wealth  of  his  uncle  had  not  come  to  him 
before  he  had  learned  the  power  of  riches.  It 
had  freed  him  from  embarrassments.  It  had 
opened  to  him  a  door  of  escape  from  a  profes- 
sion that  was  not  only  distasteful  but  a  con- 
stant menace  to  him.  It  had  brought  him  ease, 
luxury,  social  rank,  and  a  certain  influence  in 
politics  that  he  had  begun  to  crave.  It  had 
put  him  upon  a  plane  of  material  equality  with 
the  proud  family  into  which  his  sister  had 
married.  Indirect^ly  it  had  won  him  his  wife, 
for  it  had  so  placed  him  that  the  winning  was 
less  difficult. 

Up  to  this  point  the  retroaction  of  thought 
had  but  unveiled  the  spectres  of  regret,  for  thus 
far  it  had  only  uncovered  sins  that  the  world 
holds  venial.  Of  sin  in  the  sight  of  God,  or 
sin  as  a  wrong  to  humanity,  he  was  shameless — 
as  in  truth  most  men  are. 

But  the  spectres  that  came  after  gave  Hartley 
pause.  The  buckler  of  his  conscience  was  the 
esteem  of  men,  and  through  that  buckler  Neme- 
sis was  about  to  strike.     Again  and  again  he 


IJSr  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  193 

asked  himself  :     *' Wliat  do  they  know  ?    What 
did  they  discover  at  Bonie's  Hill?" 

With  the  mention  of  Bonie's  Hill  the  spectre 
of  Margaret  Leszinksky  arose.  The  bine  eyes 
looked  into  the  depths  of  his  sonl  and  saw 
where  the  garnered  hate  had  festered  into  crime. 
Yes,  he  hated  all  the  prond  Cartarets,  most  of 
all  the  woman  who  was  his  wife  only  in  appear- 
ance— the  wife  so  needful  to  his  weal ;  the  wife 
yet  held  to  an  ontward  bondage  through  the 
persuasion  of  his  sister.  But  the  thought  of  his 
wife  had  conjured  up  other  spectres — his  wife's 
brother  and  her  father  ?  The  boy  killed  in  the 
hunting-field  ;  surely  that  was  an  accident !  He 
had  warned  Tom  that  the  horse  was  vicious, 
was  given  to  mad  outbreaks  of  temper  at  times. 
But  who  would  have  believed  the  story  of  the 
English  dealer,  that  ''the  horse  would  wait  and 
watch  for  his  revenge  if  the  spur  was  used "  ? 
As  to  Judge  Cartaret,  the  family  physician  had 
foretold  what  might  happen  from  any  sudden 
shock.  And  the  shock  had  been  sudden  because 
he  would  not  listen.  "He  would  have  the  let- 
ter, and  would  not  hear  the  warning  of  what 
was  to  come.  It  was  his  own  fault."  Then 
Hartley  cursed  them  all,   and    cursed  himself, 


194  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

that  a  quadroon  girl  should  have  cost  so 
dear. 

The  first  wrong  to  Lucy  had  never  troubled 
him,  nor  did  it  now.  He  did  not  count  the 
murder  of  Truth  and  Innocence  a  crime.  They 
were  mere  abstractions,  or,  at  the  most,  essences 
of  entities  that  in  the  reasoning  of  a  sensualist 
were  outside  the  life  or  the  comprehension  of  a 
quadroon.  As  for  Oscar's  spoilt  life,  that  Avas 
the  merest  nothing.  A  qualm  there  would  have 
been  absurd.    It  was  even  beneath  a  jest. 

But  there  was  a  later  wrong  to  Lucy — an  of- 
fence that  had  violated  law.  In  that  he  had 
touched  crime.  "Would  it  come  in  judgment 
against  him?''  That  was  the  question  of  his 
conscience.  Would  he  be  found  out?  The  ex- 
posure would  be  awkward — that  was  all.  He  felt 
no  remorse  for  what  he  regarded  as  an  expedient 
to  which  the  senseless  obstina€y  of  a  woman  had 
forced  him.  If  Lucy  had  been  content  to  give 
up  his  child  quietly  there  would  have  been  no 
trouble.  It  had  never  occun-ed  to  him  that  the 
woman  had  right  or  part  in  the  child.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  now  that  there  was  any  injus- 
tice or  wrong  in  taking  the  child  from  her.  His 
only  anxiety  in  the  matter  was  whether  the  legal 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  195 

offence  would  be  brought  home  to  him.  For  the 
child's  sake,  as  well  as  his  own,  he  hoped  the 
expedient  he  had  adopted  would  be  successful. 

The  child  was  a  beautiful  and  ideal  likeness  of 
himself  ;  she  touched  the  egoist  through  his  van- 
ity and  his  self-love.  Next  to  himself  he  loved 
the  child  ;  so  for  her  sake,  almost  as  much  as  for 
his  own,  he  trusted  that  her  mother  would  be 
eternally  dumb.  Before  this  evening  he  had  felt 
secure  of  her  silence.  But  that  shadowy  threat 
from  Bouie'  s  Hill  had  unnerved  him,  had  made 
him  so  fanciful  in  his  terror  that  he  dreaded  all 
uncovering  of  the  past.  Possibly  the  discovery 
at  Bouie' s  Hill  was  a  mere  nothing— an  uj)- 
springing  of  iears  started  into  life  by  the  telling 
of  that  story.  He  resolved  to  go  and  meet  what- 
ever Fate  might  bring. 

Kising,  Hartley  looked  out  into  the  night,  then 
fell  back  in  his  seat  shaking  with  the  agony  of 
his  apprehensions.  He  had  seen  the  ghost  of 
Lucy,  a  pallid,  corpse-like  ghost,  beneath  the  yel- 
low glare  of  a  street-lamp.  From  the  upturned 
face  of  the  mother  he  had  robbed  he  shrank 
back  aghast. 


CHAPTER   XYI. 

"  Some  who  spoke  on  that  summer  evening  are  no  longer  here  to 
speak  or  listen.  Some  who  were  roung  then  have  topped  the  hill  and 
are  descending  towards  the  valley  of  the  shadows.  ...  Ah !  ghosts  of 
youth,  again  ye  draw  near!  Old  figures  glimmer  through  the  cloud. 
Old  songs  echo  out  of  the  distance." — Thackebay. 

THREE  hours  later  a  brilliant  assembly  had 
gathered  in  that  perfectly  proportioned 
room  which  was  then  the  ladies'  salon 
of  the  ''Burnet  Honse."  This  salon  was  on 
the  first  floor  of  an  oblong  wing  which  was 
thrown  lengthwise  from  the  south  front ;  thus 
it  formed  a  right  angle  with  the  fagade  of  the 
main  building  above  the  Third  Street  entrance. 
The  windows  opened  to  the  floor  upon  the  bal- 
conies on  the  east  side  which  overhung  Yine 
Street.  To  the  south  and  west  the  ^vindows 
gave  upon  a  broad  stone  flagging  which  roofed 
the  shops  and  offices  of  the  outer  basement.  On 
the  north  two  doors  led  to  the  main  hall,  which 
ran  parallel  with  Third  Street  until  it  crossed 
tlie  first  door  of  entrance  to  the  salon.  There 
it  was  intersected  by  the  smaller  hall  leading 
from  the  Vine  Street  entrance. 

196 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  197 

The  central  chandelier,  from  whicli  hnng  in 
widening  circles  multitudinous  pendants,  the  side- 
lights with  their  flashing  reflections  in  the  su- 
perb mirrors,  illuminated  the  room,  which  was 
the  setting  of  the  first  scene  of  the  drama  that 
opened  in  Cincinnati  in  the  summer  of  1856.  In 
it  were  gathered  that  night  an  assemblage  of  ac- 
tors who  were  to  be  famous  and  i)rominent  fig- 
ures in  that  drama. 

Near  the  southwest  windoAv,  through  which 
our  Arkansian  colonel  and  the  friend  to  whom 
he  told  that  story  of  Bouie's  Hill  have  just  en- 
tered, a  party  of  gentlemen  are  discussing  with 
evident  temper  the  Kansas-Nebraska  bill  and  its 
sponsor.  Above  the  tallest  of  the  group  towers 
the  ambitious  young  candidate  who,  sure  of  the 
vice-presidency— which  he  feels  within  his  grasp 
—is  hoping  for  something  more  which  a  fortui- 
tous shake  of  the  political  dice-box  or  a  dead- 
lock in  the  convention  may  give  him.  Some 
over-crafty  or  over-timid  move  of  the  cautious, 
secretive  Buchanan  may  embroil  him  with  the 
partisans  of  Pierce  and  Douglas,  yet  leave  a 
clear  field  for  the  running  of  the  youngster  who 
is  entered  under  the  Buchanan  colors.  Close  to 
Breckenridge,  and  talking  with  him,  is  a  young 


198  THE  MODERN  EAGAR. 

politician  as  yet  scarcely  known  outside  of  Ohio, 
although  there  he  is  already  recognized  as  a  leader 
of  the  "  Straight-outs."  Listen  to  what  he  is  saying: 

''It  is  speciously  framed  to  deceive  the  very 
elect.  It  will  keep  the  promise  to  the  ear  and 
break  it  to  the  sense.  It  is  a  cheap  bid  for  the 
Presidency — ' ' 

A  voice  interrupted : 

"  I  say,  VaUandigham,  is  the  Presidency  to  be 
underlet  to  the  lowest  bidder  ?" 

"Hardly,  else  Pierce  w^ere  sure  of  the  nomi- 
nation, which  might  suit  book-making  '  Hards  ' 
and  stall-fed  treasury  hacks,  but  which  I  trust  in 
the  end  will  not  suit  you,  Butler,  or  your  Massa- 
chusetts delegation." 

"  Oh  !  I'm  easily  pleased,  but  it's  devilish  hard 
to  please  Griswold.  He's  an  obstinate  ass  and 
an  awkward  marplot.  Set  him  to  cutting  up- 
pers for  the  Democracy,  and  he'll  cut  the  three- 
cornered  hole  by  which  the  pattern  hangs  every 
time.  He' s  a  statesman  through  the  saving  grace 
of  old  Deacon  Adams's  rule,  who  put  his  boy 
John  'to  learning  because  he  hadn't  sense 
enough  to  be  a  shoemaker.'  "    • 

"But  with  Pierce  out  of  the  way  will  not 
Massachusetts  go  solid  for  Buchanan?" 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  199 

'^  That  is  as  difficult  a  conundrum  as  the  ver- 
dict of  a  petit  jury.  It  would  take  the  head 
graduate  of  a  guessing-school  to  answer  your 
question." 

"  But  they  will  not  go  to  Douglas  ?" 

"  Which,  from  your  face  and  accent,  means— 
to  the  devil." 

''It  would  be  just  that.  Douglas  is  a  dema- 
gogue, but  an  able  one.  I  was  saying  to  Breck- 
enridge,  That  Kansas-Nebraska  bill  is  a  two-sided 
shield  with  which  Douglas  will  draw  to  him  the 
Free- Soil  desertei-s  from  the  Democracy,  as  he  has 
drawn  the  Southern  delegations,  who  will  not 
believe  that  he  is  only  leading  them  to  the 
threshold  of  a  new  controversy." 

But  the  Arkansian  and  his  friend  are  forced 
back  by  the  incoming  adherents  of  the  little 
lUinoisian,  and  they  cross  to  a  g2ij  party  in  one 
of  the  Vine  Street  windows. 

"  Who  is  that  beautiful  blonde,  Charley,  next 
to  Hayne?" 

"Julia  Dean.  Have  you  never  seen  her 
play?" 

"No." 

"Then  see  her  in  Parthenia^  O  uncivilized 
Arkansian]    and  you  will    wish  only  to  be  a 


200  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

savage,  and  Ingoviar^  that  she  may  crown  your 
cup  with  flowers  and  teach  you  the  physiological 
puzzle,  '  two  hearts  that  beat  as  one.'  " 

*•'  Does  she  play  as  well  as  Agnes  Robertson  ? " 

*'No,  oh!  no,  most  F/oZe^^- loving  backwoods- 
man. But  you  can  see  with  your  never-to-be- 
bespectacled  eyes,  my  sun- gazer,  that  the  divine 
Julia  is  divine  through  right  of  beauty.  She 
seems  Aphrodite's  self  in  the  faint,  rosy  mist  of 
that  diaphanous  gown." 

*'I  am  not  sure  of  the  likeness  ;  I  never  saw 
the  other  one.  And,  come  to  think  of  it,  none  of 
the  old  fellows  that  tell  the  story  say  anything 
of  a  gown." 

**You  prosaic,  literal,  and  most  commonplace 
of  politicians,  not  a  step  nearer  shall  you  go  to 
Julia  1  Turn  this  way  ;  now  listen  attentively  to 
the  grandiloquent  Toombs.*'  Tliis  is  what  they 
heard  : 

''The  white  is  the  superior  race  and  the  black 
the  inferior  ;  and  subordination,  with  or  without 
law,  will  be  the  status  of  the  African  in  this  mix- 
ed society.  And,  therefore,  it  is  the  interest  of 
both,  and  especially  of  the  black  race,  and  of 
the  whole  society,  that  this  status  should  be 
fixed,  controlled,  and  protected  by  law." 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  201 

Ay  tlie  ponderous  sentence  ended  two  gentle- 
m'rn  left  the  circle  around  the  orator  and  joined 
the  friends.  They  shook  hands  cordially  with 
the  Arkaasian,  who  presented  ''Mr.  Singleton 
of  Mississippi,  Colonel  Forsyth  of  Alabama,  my 
old  frienil  and  college  chum,  the  Hon.  Charles 
Grandison." 

Fresh  salutations,  and  then,  as  the  newly -met 
friends  exchanged  personal  inquiries,  Grandison 
looked  curiously  at  the  Mobile  editor,  the  lead- 
ing opinion-maker  of  the  Southern  press.  Small, 
we/i  formed,  with  an  almost  femininely  beautiful 
fau3,  the  shapely  head  crowned  by  clustering 
curls,  exquisitely  and  carefully  dressed,  the 
famous  editor  had  more  of  the  air  and  manner  of 
a  squire  of  dames  than  of  one  of  the  uncrowned 
kings  of  the  press. 

Singleton  was  a  very  different  type  of  the 
genus  Southerner.  There  was  in  his  bearing  a 
very  apparent  mannerism,  in  which  a  slight  pre- 
tentiousness struggled  with  a  naturally  joyous 
and  mercurial  temperament.  But  this  surface 
defect  would  wear  off  with  age  and  the  friction 
of  the  file  which  the  woiid  is  always  ready  to 
furnish.  There  was  substance  enough  beneath 
to  withstand,  and  be  the  better  for,  the  scraping 


202  THE  MODERN  II A  GAR. 

of  the  bark.  He  was  sound  at  tlie  core,  sturdy 
and  strong  as  heart  of  oak ;  the  peeling  off  of 
small  vanities  would  only  assist  growth ;  it  was 
not  as  if  a  mere  fibrous  pith  was  to  be  exjDosed 
to  wind  and  weather. 

But  this  study  of  Grandison's  was  not  a  one- 
sided peering  into  flesh  to  find  the  quality  of 
spirit.  The  subjects  of  his  mental  scalpel  were 
in  their  turn  taking  his  measure,  and  it  was 
evident  that  the  measure  pleased.  Both  were 
cordial  in  their  readiness  to  include  him  in  that 
mystic  circle  which  fences  in  friends  and  turns 
its  infinitesimal  thorns  of  resistance  against  its 
antipathies.  The  evidence  of  the  attraction  was 
that  Singleton's  mannerism  succumbed  to  his 
temperament,  while  Forsyth  lost  the  bored  air 
of  a  drawing-room  lounger. 

To  be  perfectly  fitted  to  his  vocation  the  editor 
must  be  a  many-sided  man  of  letters,  with  at 
least  one  side  of  the  polygon  art-receptive,  if  not 
art-creative.  Being  perfectly  fitted  to  his  voca- 
tion, Forsyth  was  an  artist  in  the  perceptive  and 
appreciative  sense.  An  interpreter  of  art  in  the 
plastic  sense  he  was  not,  nor  could  he  be ;  for 
that  the  divine  fire  and  the  hand  of  the  artisan 
were  lacking. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  203 

Tlirougli  that  perceptive  and  ai^preciative  sense 
Forsyth  saw  Gfrandison.  Outline  and  color  I  can 
describe  for  you  as  Forsyth  saw  them.  (But  the 
worthlessness  of  words,  the  littleness  of  written 
letters,  oppress  and  restrain  me  when  I  try  to 
spell  on  this  page  the  outer  expression  of  the 
qualities  which  bound  and  still  bind  me  with 
''hooks  of  steel"  to  the  old  friend  whose  like- 
ness was  daguerreotyped  in  my  memory  in  the 
days  of  my  childhood.)  He  saw  a  frank,  fair- 
faced  gentleman  of  the  Saxon  type  which  sug- 
gests a  Roman  ancestor,  with  eyes  of  that  deep 
blue  which  we  find  in  the  vaulted  arch  of  the 
sky  Avhen  we  look  through  the  fleecy,  sun-driven 
clouds  of  morning— a  man  of  grand  mien  and 
noble  x)resence. 

Singleton  and  the  Arkansian  had  instantly 
fallen  into  talk  of  their  resjjective  delegations, 
which  grew  confidential  and  unconsciously  ex- 
clusive. Grandison  and  Forsyth — illuminated 
by  magnetic  consciousness — each  excused  to  the 
other  by  a  look  the  friend  for  wliom  he  felt  re- 
sponsible. Each  smiled  his  acceptance  of  the  ex- 
cuse. Thus,  under  the  glow  of  a  nascent  friend- 
ship, their  talk  began — talk  that  wandered  out- 
side  of   the  scene  and  the  topics  which  were 


204  THE  MODERN  HAG  Alt 

echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  heated  air  of 
the  political  furnace  now  ablaze  in  Cincinnati. 

There  was  happy  mention  of  mutual  friends — 
men  of  letters,  artists,  art ;  that  last  was  a  road 
that  led  to  Rome.  Then,  in  wider  talk  of  Italy 
free  their  sympathies  grew  together.  They 
were  both  enthusiasts.  Grandison'  s  enthusiasm 
was  outspoken  in  eloquent,  fiery  bursts  of  feel- 
ing ;  Forsyth's  was  a  lambent  flame  that  flowed 
from  the  pen's  point  in  lines  of  light.  So  the 
polished,  elegant  writer  was  a  willing  listener 
to  one  of  the  most  rarely  eloquent  talkers  an 
unripe  civilization  has  ever  produced.  Such  a 
listener  is  an  insj)iration,  always  putting  a  con- 
versationalist at  his  best  by  a  well-timed  look 
of  question  or  of  sympathetic  assent.  The  tri- 
umj)h  of  Cavour's  success  could  not  have  been 
more  nobly  told  in  the  Roman  forum  by  the 
silver-tongued  Cicero  than  it  was  in  this  West- 
ern salon.     Then  Forsyth  suggested  : 

^'  The  actual  state  of  Italy  is  not  only  danger- 
ous to  its  neiglibors,  but  dangerous  in  its  bear- 
ing upon  European  alliances." 

This  brought  such  a  picture  of  revolutionary 
Italy  that  the  listener  seemed  to  hear  the  far-off 
heart-beat  of  a  throbbing  volcano. 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  205 

Then  description  was  lost  in  anticipation,  and 
the  beantifully  modulated  voice  grew  calmly 
sweet  as  the  speaker  wished  for  Italy  ''only 
that  constitutional,  moderate  government  which 
will  know  how  to  assuage  passion  and  conserve 
the  principle  of  development." 

A  gentleman  touched  Forsyth  :  "  Sorry  to  in- 
terrupt, but  we  must  leave  at  once  or  we  shall  be 
late.  The  ladies  are  ready,  and  you  know," 
with  a  bow  to  Grandison,  "it  is  dangerous  to 
keep  them  waiting."  And  the  handsome  Alaba- 
mian  walked  to  where  Governor  Brown,  of  Ten- 
nessee, stood  beside  his  stepdaughter  and  two 
friends  who  were  waiting  for  the  tardy  gallants. 
A  hand-shake  and  a  promise  for  the  morrow, 
and  again  the  Arkansian  and  Grandison  slowly 
passed  group  after  group  of  ladies  and  their  at- 
tendant courtiers,  and  of  politicians  and  their 
satellites.  In  the  centre  of  one  such  group 
stands  and  j^oses  the  saturnine  Benton,  too  vain 
to  think  he  is  but  a  foil  to  the  handsome  man  be- 
side him,  whose  leonine  head  and  soldierly  figure 
attract  universal  attention. 

"Who  is  that   splendidly  handsome  feUow, 
Roane  1"    asked  Grandison. 

"  From  the  paint  you  put  on  the  description  I 


206  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

suppose  you  mean  Price.  He  is  standing  tliere 
by  Benton." 

"Yes,  standing  there.  I  swear  he  looks  a 
demigod." 

'*If  you  could  hear  him  roar  in  a  battle-field 
you  would  swear  he  was  a  bull  of  Bashan.  I 
heard  him  once,  in  New  Mexico,  order  a  charge, 
and  his  voice  not  only  reached  the  squadron  of 
dragoons  two  hundred  yards  away  and  sent  them 
headlong  at  the  enemy,  but  so  frightened  the 
enemy's  cannoneers  that  the  dragoons  caiotured 
the  battery  without  drawing  a  sabre.  The  Mexi- 
cans were  in  full  run  before  our  fellows  shook 
themselves  to  try  their  saddles." 

''Is  he  not  leading  the  cohorts  now  for  Ben- 
ton ? " 

"Yes.  Benton  caught  him  young  ;  and  Price, 
for  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  common,  and 
uncommon,  sense,  is  the  most  stubborn  ass  alive. 
You'll  see  to-morrow  how  he'll  carry  Benton's 
colors  into  that  convention." 

A  movement  of  the  crowd  brought  them  near 
the  outer  edge  of  a  circle  which  surrounded  a 
group  of  talkers.  The  central  figure  of  that 
group  was  a  queer,  homely  little  woman,  gaily- 
plumaged    and    bright-eyed,     who    seemed    the 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  207 

quasi-president  of  tlie  coterie  which  had  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  friends. 

The  speaker  of  the  moment  was  so  pronounced 
in  resemblance  to  the  first  Napoleon  that  the 
likeness  could  not  fail  to  strike  the  most  care- 
less observer. 

*' Isn't  that  Soule  who  is  speaking  to  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke,  Charley  1 "  asked  the  Arkansian. 

''  Yes.     Do  you  not  know  him  ?  " 

"Never  set  eyes  on  him  before.  But  I  had 
heard  of  the  likeness  to  Bonaparte.  It  is  abso- 
lutely wonderful.  It  is  the  same  figure  and 
pose  of  the  head — the  very  face,  the  clear,  pene- 
trating eyes  that  look  at  you  out  of  David's  por- 
trait. Put  the  coronation  robes  on  him  and  it 
would  seem  a  resurrection.  He  would  electrify 
the  old  sentimentalists  who  dream  of  past  glory 
in  the  Hotel  des  Invalides.^^ 

"It  is  a  perfect  resemblance,  and  I  fancy  the 
voice  must  be  the  same,  it  is  so  exquisite  in 
tone,  so  magnetic  in  quality.  Every  inflection, 
every  modulation  tells  of  the  orator  who,  if  per- 
suasion fail,  will  carry  his  auditors  by  his  own 
intensity.  He  hides  imiDeriousness  under  the 
guise  of  enthusiasm,  and  by  seducing  the  im- 
agination blinds  the  judgment.     If  Douglas's  de- 


208  THE  3I0DERN  HAGAR. 

feat  was  not  a  foregone  conclusion  Sonle  would 
carry  the  convention  to  him  ;  as  it  is,  even  Louisi- 
ana will  finally  follow  Slidell  to  Buchanan.  But 
here  comes  William  the  saturnine.  How  are 
you,  Horry?" 

''As  well  as  an  honest  man  may  be  when  he 
breathes  the  air  infected  by  politicians." 

"  Is  there  such  contagion  in  it  ? " 

"It  is  pestilential,  most  foul  and  unnatural; 
but  how  does  this  base  world  treat  you,  my 
Hamlet?" 

The  new-comer  placed  his  hand  with  a  light, 
caressing  movement  upon  the  shoulder  of  Gran- 
dison. 

"'Excellently  well,  i'  faith'  ;  and  I  am  glad 
you  have  come  out  of  your  tub,  O  Diogenes ! 
But  'what  make  you  here,'  my  friend?" 

"  I  am  brought  by  'the  rash  humor  which  my 
mother  gave  me '  —the  inheritance  of  a  grain  of 
Eve's  curiosity.  I  am  watching  by  the  death- 
bed of  this  republican  oligarchy.  Do  you  know, 
Charley,  when  this  scene  is  shifted  the  last  act 
in  the  drama  begins  V 

"  O  reddest  of  red-republicans  !  you  have  come 
back  from  France  a  male  Cassandra.  You  are 
deceived  by  the  bubble  of  the  caldi'on  that  boils 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  209 

over  the  fire  of  the  convention.  It  will  settle, 
my  friend,  and  it  will  clear  itself  of  tlie  scum. 
There  is  such  potency  in  the  master  ingredients 
that  the  j^oison  which  ignorance  has  gathered  will 
be  neutralized.  You  forget,  O  prophet  of  evil! 
tliat  this  turmoil  of  the  nation  is  a  recurrent 
symptom — an  ague-fit  that  shakes  the  body  poli- 
tic at  each  Presidential  election." 

*'  This  time,  my  optimist,  the  fit  will  shake  the 
nation  into  fragments.  There  is  death  in  the 
pot.  And  senseless  quacks  will  try  blood-let- 
ting. Every  sign  proves  that  the  end  is  near  at 
hand.  Even  so  slight  a  tiling  as  a  woman's 
opinion  leans  that  way.  Listen  to  what  our 
little  lady  of  '  the  hill '  is  saying  to  Soule," 
They  could  hear  distinctly  the  words  : 
'^  I  believe  with  you,  Mr.  Soule,  that  if  elected 
Douglas  would  succeed  in  harmonizing  the  con- 
tending factions  for  the  time — but,  mark  you, 
only  for  the  time.  Unfortunately  the  divisions 
in  the  parties  are  widening  into  a  national  divi- 
sion. The  untoward  contempt  of  Southern  ex- 
tremists is  repaid  by  hatred  that  grows  more 
bitter  as  the  North  feels  the  balance  of  power 
slipping  Southward.  A  Southerner  by  birth 
and  a  Northerner  by  residence,  I  can  see  both 


210  THE  3I0DERN  HA  GAR. 

sides  of  the  shield  that  is  waiting  the  touch  of 
a  hostile  lance.  In  a  federation  like  ours  con- 
tempt and  hatred  are  deadly  qualities.  They 
will  kill  the  unity  of  the  nation,  as  they  have 
killed  the  harmony  of  the  States." 

A  movement  in  the  group  revealed  the  listen- 
ers in  the  outer  circle.  A  wave  of  the  little 
hand  and  a  glad  salutation  called  them  nearer. 

*'  Ah !  I  see,  Mr.  Soule,  that  you  already  know 
my  friends.  Mr.  Grandison  thinks  me  slightly 
demented  on  this  sectional  question ;  but  Mr. 
Horry  will  prove  to  you  that  there  is  method  in 
my  madness." 

Touching  the  lady's  hand  as  he  bowed  to 
Soule,  Horry  said:  "In  plain  words,  the  priest- 
ess descends  from  the  tripod  and  leaves  me  to 
unravel  the  perplexed  and  mystic  meaning  of 
the  oracle." 

Soule.  '*  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  has  already  proved 
the  soundness  of  her  judgment  by  her  selection 
of  an  advocate." 

Horry.  "I  deny  the  judgment.  It  was  only 
the  sixth  sense  of  a  woman — the  instinctive 
tyranny  of  the  sex  that  chooses  the  readiest 
and  most  unsuspicious  victim.  Counting  on  my 
good-nature,   on  my  ignorance  of  Avoman's  ha- 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  211 

bitnal  and  inherent  perfidy,  she  unhesitatingly 
proceeds  to  immolate  me  upon  the  altar  of  her 
vanity.  She  sacrifices  the  most  devoted  of  her 
subjects  to  a  strange  god." 

The  bow  to  Soule  accented  the  last  words. 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  ''Now  may  Heaven  keep 
me  from  treacherous  allies  and  need  of  aid! 
I  have  proved  nothing  to  Mr.  Soule  except  my 
poverty  in  friends.  I  abandon  politics  to  the 
Furies,  and  so  will  you  all.  A  woman  comes 
who  will  make  you  forget  that  I  exist.  But 
when  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabs  one  is  con- 
tent to  fall  at  the  feet  of  a  rival.  Mr.  Horry's 
defection  has  driven  me  to  such  extremes  that  I 
am  glad  to  see  my  beautiful  enemy." 

She  made  place  for  tAvo  ladies  who  had  just 
entered.  The  gentlemen  rising,  she  presented 
them  to  Mrs.  Cartaret  and  Mrs.  Hartley.  ' '  The 
Carisbrooke"  kept  the  shuttle  of  conversation 
flying.  While  the  sparkling  current  of  light  talk 
ripples  and  flows  about  Mrs.  Hartley  I  can  see 
the  change  the  last  six  years  have  wrought 
in  her. 

Slight  and  stately  she  was ;  slender  and 
haughty  she  is.  Beautiful,  as  her  pallid  youth 
promised  ;  but  it  is  a  dead,  statuesque  beauty, 


212  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

where  life  and  warmtli  are  lacking.  Expression- 
less, except  for  the  sombre  light  in  the  dark  eyes 
and  the  occasional  deepening  of  the  faint,  down- 
ward lines  which  droop  from  the  corners  of  the 
exquisitely  curved  lips ;  but  faint  as  they  are, 
the  lines  are  hieroglyphic  characters,  that  tell 
how  the  soul  of  the  woman  is  warj^ed  by  the 
indwelling  of  contempt,  which  has  perverted 
faith  and  dislodged  love  and  charity. 

Messengers  came  for  Soule  and  the  Arkansian, 
calling  them  to  a  caucus  of  the  Southern  dele- 
gates— a  summons  both  were  loath  to  obey.  For 
the  prince  of  conversationalists  was  talking  to 
intelligent  and  interested  listeners,  while  the 
Arkansian  was  watching,  with  unconscious  be- 
trayal of  admiration,  a  face  that  held  him  by  the 
rare  charm  of  perfect  beauty. 

The  deep-set,  gray  eyes  of  "The  Carisbrooke" 
were  of  penetrative  quality.  As  the  two  gentle- 
men disappeared  through  one  of  the  windows 
which  opened  on  the  broad  platform  above  the 
Third  Street  entrance,  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Hart- 
ley: 

*'I  acquit  you  of  flirtatious  intent,  my  proud 
Kate  ;  but  nevertheless  that  poor  '  Arkansaw 
traveller'  is  pierced  through  and  through.     His 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  Y/AR.  213 

indigenous  bowie-knife  could  not  liave  made 
deeper  wounds  than  liave  tlie  eyes  whicli 
were  shining  so  far  above  him.  You  cannot  helj) 
it,  my  dear,  x^ll  your  scorn  goes  for  naught. 
Men  are  such  simpletons,  and  a  beautiful  face  is 
the  touchstone  which  tries  them.  The  mask  of 
wisdom  with  which  they  manage  to  deceive  us 
falls  before  the  talisman  and  gives  to  view  the 
folly  of  a  fool.  Those  we  blindly  think  the 
wisest  are  often  only  the  weakest.  Now,  Soule 
has  talked  his  best  this  evening,  not  because  I 
listened  understandingly,  my  dear,  but  because 
he  looked  at  you  while  he  talked  to  me.  Could 
there  have  been  a  more  pronounced  proof  of  the 
constitutional  tendency  of  the  masculine  brain  to 
idiocy?" 

The  action  which  accompanied  her  talk,  fitting 
a  gesture  to  every  xDhrase,  gave  to  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke's  speech  a  certain  indescribable  piquancy. 
All  laughed.  Even  Mrs.  Hartley's  proud  lips 
unclosed,  and  as  the  wliite  teeth  flashed  the 
ghost  of  a  lost  dimple  indented  the  oval  round- 
ness ;  but  the  dimple  vanished,  and  the  smile 
lost  its  sweetness  as  it  fell  under  the  scornful 
arch  of  the  thin  nostrils. 

Just  then  Doctor  Carisbrooke   came   into  the 


214  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

room  and  joined  the  group.  All  looked  and 
spoke  a  welcome.  Tlie  smile  of  Ms  wife  trans- 
figured tlie  plain  face  of  the  homely  woman. 
With  the  glowing  light  of  love  in  it,  it  had  a 
positive  and  attractive  beauty. 

The  doctor  had  a  noble  head  and  a  sweet, 
wholesome  countenance.  I  can  find  no  other 
words  which  express  my  meaning  so  fully.  If 
some  carping  critic  cavil  at  the  expression  let  him 
better  it.  I  dare  affirm  that  any  lover  of  truth  and 
good  English  would  say  the  words  "sweet  and 
wholesome"  were  well  chosen  had  he  looked  in- 
to Doctor  Carisbrooke' s  honest  face  and  met  the 
glance  of  those  penetrative  yet  kindly  eyes.  The 
breadth  of  the  man's  humanity  made  this  healer 
of  the  body  a  fit  physician  of  the  "mind  dis- 
eased" ;  and  besides  there  was  in  his  manner  a 
self-reverence  which  proved  that  a  pure  soul  was 
lodged  in  a  clean  body.  To  get  the  best  that  is 
possible  out  of  the  school  of  life  these  conditions 
are  imperative. 

The  wise  teacher  would  have  taught  a  more 
philosophically  practical  lesson  on  the  upbuild- 
ing of  character  had  he  left  out  the  question  of 
precedence  and  insisted  that  "  cleanliness  is  the 
beginning  of  godliness." 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  215 

After  cordial  greetings  had  been  exchang- 
ed the  doctor,  refusing  a  seat,  nodded  t^  his 
wife. 

Mrs.  CarishrooTce.  ^'Yes,  I  understand  that 
Jovian  signal.  It  orders  a  start,  an  instant  leave- 
taking.  It  means  that  I  must  quit  this  Eden  of 
budding  and  growing  politicians,  this  convoca- 
tion of  great  and  small  statesmen,  to  jog  up  Vine 
Street  hill  behind  a  pair  of  balky  horses  that 
Carisbrooke'  s  compassion  forced  him  to  buy  from 
a  brutal  expressman.  His  sympathy  is  a  stream 
that  runs  as  evenly  and  full  as  a  milh^ace  for  all 
the  animal  kingdom — except  his  wife." 

Dr.  Carishrooke.  ^'You  are  a  woman,  there- 
fore to  be — taken  with  several  grains  of  salt. 
You  know,  my  dear,  that  they  are  excellent 
horses.  Sometimes  they  wish  to  stop  on  the 
wayside  to  reason  with  you  when  you  are  im- 
patient and  would  have  them  driven  hurriedly 
up  a  steep  grade.  But,  like  their  master,  they 
give  up  and  go  on  stolidly  when  reason  cannot 
get  a  hearing." 

Mrs.  CarishrooTce.  "Having  listened  to.  balky 
reason,  I  am  ready  to  try  the  horses.  Our 
friends  have  promised  to  take  their  luncheon 
with  us  to-morrow.   After  you  make  your  morn- 


216  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

ing  visits  you  are  to  bring  Mrs.  Cartaret  and  Kate 
home  with  yon." 

Dr.  Carisbrooke.  *' I  shall  be  delighted.  The 
ladies  will  know  to-morrow  that  yon  have  slan- 
dered my  bays.  Have  yon  left  an  invitation  for 
Captain  Hartley?" 

Mr.  Grandison.  ^^  Horry  and  I  have  promised 
Mrs.  Carisbrooke  to  bring  him  if  he  can  leave 
his  delegation.  We  will  wait  until  the  last  mo- 
ment that  he  may  come." 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  "  He  mnst  come,  and  my 
luncheon  must  not  wait.  I  shall  expect  you  at 
two  o'clock." 

Horry.  ' '  The  impossible  shall  come  to  pass 
at  your  bidding.  You  shall  eat  your  luncheon 
smilingly,  madam,  *  that  good  digestion  may 
wait  on  appetite. '  " 


CHAPTER  XYII. 

"■What!  there's  a  heart  inside  me,  and  I've  bought  a  candle  for  the 
Most  Holy  Yirgin  before  now." 

THE  little  group  left  the  room  together.  At 
the  foot  of  the  wide  staircase  near  the  door 
''Good-nights"  were  said  to  Mrs.  Cartaret 
and  Mrs.  Hartley.. 

Horry  and  Grandison  walked  on  with  the  doc- 
tor and  Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  Near  the  door  of  the 
reception-room  they  met  two  gentlemen.  One 
had  lost  an  arm,  and  both  had  that  erect  mili- 
tary carriage  which  said  plainly,  "soldiers." 
Doctor  Carisbrooke' s  hand  was  laid  on  the 
empty  sleeve:  "  Leszinksky  ! "  "Carisbrooke!" 
were  simultaneous  exclamations.  Then  the  doc- 
tor shook  hands  with  Leszinksky's  compan- 
ion, and  the  doctor's  distant  cousin,  Major 
Leszinksky,  and  Captain  Carson  were  presented 
to  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  and  the  gentlemen  stand- 
ing beside  her. 

A  swarthy,  handsome  boy,  with  high  cheek- 
bones, black  hair,  and  flashing  eyes,  had  come 

217 


2 1 8  THE  310DERN  JIA  OAR. 

from  the  reception-room  and  waited  near  the 
officers.  The  race  to  which  he  belonged  was  so 
evident,  the  features  so  marked,  that  when  Car- 
son introduced  him  as  "my  son  Stanislaus" 
there  was  surjirise  in  every  face  except  Grandi- 
son's.  He  instantly  understood  that  these  were 
two  of  the  actors  in  the  story  he  had  heard  of 
the  tight  at  Bouie's  Hill.  He  thought  of  the  In- 
dian mother  and  "Captain  Rue"  as  he  w^atch- 
ed  the  boy's  face  and  listened  to  Leszinksky 
saying : 

"It  is  not  only  a  x)leasure  to  meet  you,  Caris- 
brooke  ;  it  is  a  special  providence.  We  have  just 
arrived,  and  are  told  that  it  is  impossible  for 
us  to  have  rooms  in  the  '  Burnet.'  My  daugh- 
ter is  quite  ill.  She  is  lying  on  a  sofa  in  the 
reception-room.  I  was  going  for  a  physician 
first,  and  then  to  search  for  quarters.  The  doc- 
tor is  found,  and  I  hope  you  can  tell  me  where 
we  can  find  a  place  of  rest  for  the  night  in  this 
crowded  town.  But  first  come  and  tell  me  what 
to  do  for  my  child.  She  has  been  nervous  and 
ill  for  some  time.  Doctor  Eandall  ordered  me 
to  come  north  with  her.  This  afternoon  she  had 
a  severe  chill,  and  now  the  fever  has  made  her 
slightly  deliiious." 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  219 

The  doctor  went  into  the  room  with  Leszink- 
sky.    Carson  and  his  son  followed  them. 

Standing  there  waiting  for  their  return, 
Grandison  rapidly  told  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  of 
the  fight  at  Bouie'  s  Hill,  of  Mrs.  Carson,  and  of 
"Cai3tain  Rue."  The  talker  was  eloquent,  the 
listener  impressionable  and  quick  in  symj^athy. 

When  the  doctor  returned  with  a  hesitating, 
half -questioning  look  on  his  face,  his  wife  anti- 
cipated his  question : 

"Bring  these  relatives  of  yours  with  us.  They 
must  come.  We  have  room — or  somehow  I  will 
make  room — for  them  all.  Why,  Carisbrooke, 
I  would  take  Molly  out  of  her  bed  or  turn  you 
into  the  street,  to  find  shelter  for  that  child.  Tell 
Major  Leszinksky — no,  you  stay  here  ;  I  will  tell 
them  myself." 

And  she  was  heard  talking  to  the  gentlemen, 
urging  until  they  could  no  longer  refuse. 

Dr.  Carisbrooke  asked  Grandison:  "Charley, 
what  bee  has  stung  my  wife?" 

"Generous  sympath}^  with  the  heroic." 

"  Does  the  army  march  with  the  insect  always 
at  the  front,  or  is  it  the  special  privilege  of  these 
two  officers?" 

For  the  third  time  that  evening  the  story  was 


220  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

told,  tills  last  time  in  a  quick  grouping  of  gen- 
eral facts.  But  the  large-hearted  man  under- 
stood how  and  why  his  wife  was  so  moved.  She 
came  back  to  them  with  the  tears  rolling  down 
her  cheeks,  but  she  said  with  a  triumphant  ring 
in  her  voice : 

''They  will  come  now,  at  once.  Go  out  and 
get  a  close  carriage.  You  and  Major  Leszink- 
sky  and  Lucy  can  go  in  that  with  Rue.  I  found 
Lucy  waiting  in  the  reception-room  for  me.  She 
was  already  attending  to  the  child's  wants.  She 
can  nurse  her.  You  know  how  she  nursed  Mol- 
ly and  how  devoted  she  is  to  children.  She 
will  go  in  the  carriage  and  hold  the  child  so  the 
jolting  will  not  disturb  her.  Captain  Carson  and 
his  son  ^vill  go  with  me  and  the  balky  bays." 
She  laughed  nervously  as  she  brushed  aside  her 
tears.  In  less  than  twenty  minutes  Horry  and 
Grandison,  having  seen  the  carriages  off,  were 
walking  eastward  on  Fourth  Street. 


CHAPTER  XYIII. 

"  0  Christ  of  the  seven  ^rounds,  who  look'dst  through  the  dark 
To  the  face  of  thy  mother !  consider.  I  pray, 
How  we  common  mothers  stand  desolate." 

BEFORE  breakfast  the  doctor  visited  liis 
young  patient.  Major  Leszinksky  was  sit- 
ting beside  Ms  daughter,  who  seemed  to  be 
sleeping  quietly.  As  the  doctor  touched  the 
slender  little  hand  the  child  opened  her  eyes  and 
watched  his  face  as  he  counted  the  pulse-beats. 

''  You  do  not  remember  our  bringing  you  here, 
Rue?"  asked  the  doctor. 

''  No  ;  are  you  a  doctor  ?  " 

''  Yes  ;  and  I  am  going  to  cure  you.  You  are 
very  much  better  already.  My  wife  will  bring 
you  a  cup  of  chocolate  and  some  toast ;  then,  if 
you  feel  strong  enough  to  see  a  visitor,  Molly 
wishes  to  come." 

^*Whois  JSIollyl" 

"  She  is  my  daughter—  an  only  daughter,  like 
yourself. ' ' 

''I  am  not  papa's  only  daughter.  Steenie  is 
with  her  mother  in  St.  Louis.     I  was  my  mother's 

221 


222  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

only  daughter."  There  was  a  tremulous  shiver 
in  the  sweet,  low  voice.  With  one  hand  smooth- 
ing back  the  clustering  curls  from  the  fair,  open 
brow,  and  the  other  holding  firmly  both  the  rest- 
less, nervous  little  hands,  the  doctor  continued : 

' '  Your  father  and  I  are  relatives  and  old 
friends.  I  knew  him  when  he  was  a  boy  at 
Mount  Hope.  The  Albemarle  Masons  were  cou- 
sins of  my  mother.  You  and  Molly  are  far-away 
cousins.  I  hope  you  will  be  friends.  I  have 
spent  many  happy  days  at  Mount  Hope.  I 
loved  my  kinspeople  there  dearly.  For  the  sake 
of  those  old  days  I  trust  you  and  Molly  will  care 
for  each  other." 

"I  like  you."  And  the  slender  fingers  clasped 
the  doctor's  broad  palm.  "Bring  Molly  to  see 
me.  I  hope  I  shall— I  want  to  love  her.  I  will 
if  I  can.  But  you  know  love  is  free.  I  shall 
never  try  again  to  love  any  one.  I  have  tried  to 
love  some  one  because  it  was  right.  But  it  was 
not  right ;  and  now  I  hate." 

"  My  daughter  !  " 

"  Yes,  papa,  I  do.  But  I  shall  not  say  whom. 
I  am  hurt,  doctor— hurt  terribly  here."  And  she 
slipped  one  little  hand  from  liis  clasp  and  laid  it 
on  her  breast.     "But  I  am   trying  to  live  for 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  223 

papa's  sake  and  for  Steenie's  sake — for  I  do  love 
Steenie.  I  love  her  dearly.  Papa  knows  that  I 
do.  But  Laha  and  my  chief  !  I  cannot  forget. 
O  Laha  !  O  my  Chief  !  ■'  And  the  little  frame 
shook  with  quick- coming  sobs. 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  who  had  come  in  quietly  and 
was  listening  to  the  child,  imjjulsively  pushed 
her  husband  aside  and  caught  Rue  in  her  arms. 

''God  bless  you,  Rue!  My  darling,  darling 
Rue  !  Your  mother  was  my  friend  and  play- 
mate— your  own  mother,  my  child.  For  Mar- 
garet Cartaret's  sake  I  love  her  daughter.  For 
her  sake  will  you  love  me,  Rue  ? " 

As  the  child  held  back  those  long,  quivering 
sobs  and  raised  a  pale,  thin  little  face  to  look 
into  Mrs.  Carisbrooke' s  eyes,  the  doctor  was 
more  iDPOvoked  and  angry  with  his  wife  than  he 
had  ever  believed  it  possible  for  him  to  be. 

But  as  Rue's  arms  were  thrown  around  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke' s  neck,  and  her  tears  came  in  a  full 
shower  the  doctor  put  his  hand  in  his  friend's 
arm,  and  they  silently  left  the  suffering  child  to 
the  ministration  of  that  spirit  of  motherhood 
which  has  strayed  out  of  Paradise  to  dwell  in  the 
hearts  of  the  daughters  of  Eve. 

As  the  gentlemen  left  the  room  a  wild,  scared 


224  THE  MODERN  IIAGAR. 

face  came  from  between  the  muslin  curtains  at 
tlie  foot  of  the  bed.  Tearless,  aching  eyes  gazed 
a  moment  at  the  lady  and  the  child,  who  were 
unconscious  of  the  watcher.  Then,  crouching 
down,  the  quadroon  whom  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  had 
called  "Lucy"  crept  through  the  door  of  the 
adjoining  room,  and,  throwing  herself  upon  her 
face,  begged  of  the  Eternal  Giver,  not  life,  but 
death  and  forge tfulness. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Que  scais-je." 

DOCTOR  CARISBROOKE  and  Leszinksky 
found  Molly  Carisbrooke  seated  on  tlie 
steps  of  the  vine-clad  porcli. 

Tonclied  by  the  tliouglit  of  the  child  he  had 
just  left,  by  her  grief  and  comparative  loneliness, 
Doctor  Carisbrooke  made  the  most  of  the  distant 
relationship  when  he  introduced  his  daughter. 

"Major  Leszinksky  is  a  connection  of  ours, 
Molly.  His  dark  locks  have  bleached  so  much 
sooner  than  my  sandy  pow  that  you  scarcely  dare 
*  cousin '  him ;  so  he  is  to  be  your  '  Uncle 
Stan.'" 

There  was  a  tender,  compassionate  look  on  the 
girl's  face  as  she  gave  her  hand  to  the  gentleman 
thus  presented  and  looked  into  the  deep,  mourn- 
ful eyes  that  were  bent  upon  her. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  my  Uncle  Stan.  I  hope 
Rue — my  cousin  Rue — is  better." 

"She  is  much  better,  my  dear.  Your  good 
father's   skill  found  quick   ways   of  help,    and 

225 


226  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

your  mother's  kindness  was  of  equal  value.  I 
had  flattered  myself  that  I  was  a  tolerable  nurse ; 
but  your  mother  and  the  woman  Lucy  are  gra- 
duates of  the  best  school.  No  one  could  have 
cared  for  my  child  more  tenderly.  And  now  I 
can  see  in  your  eyes,  my  dear  little  cousin,  the 
help  you  will  bring  Rue.  She  is  suffering,  not 
only  from  illness,  but  from  a  very  grievous  loss, 
a  sorrow  hard  for  us  all  to  bear,  crushing  to  one 
so  young  and  so  loving.  I  think,  my  dear,  you 
will  helj)  her  to  bear  it." 

^ '  I  will  do  my  best,  Uncle  Stan. ' '  And  the  child, 
just  budding  into  maidenhood,  with  a  modest, 
blushing  grace,  turned  her  cheek  to  receive  the 
proffered  kiss. 

Molly  had  her  father's  kindly  brown  eyes  and 
frank,  fair  face.  Fifteen  years  of  age,  well 
grown,  with  a  serious,  womanly  manner,  she 
seemed  utterly  unlike  that  bright  butterfly,  her 
mother.  But  there  was  a  decided  though  hid- 
den resemblance.  There  was  between  mother 
and  daughter  a  mysterious  unity  of  tastes  and 
ways  of  thought,  a  magnetic  sympathy  in  likes 
and  dislikes,  that  completed  the  girl's  dual  na- 
ture. In  this  fortunate  child  of  a  perfect 
marriage  there  was  a  harmoniously  blended  in- 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  227 

heritance  of  responsive  and  appreciative  quali- 
ties. 

Carson  and  his  handsome  son  came  up  the 
shaded  country  road  and  entered  the  gate.  The 
doctor  and  Leszinksky  walked  down  to  meet 
them  as  Molly  seated  herself  again  upon  the 
steps. 

''You  are  early  afoot,  Captain  Carson,"  said 
the  doctor.  ''  You  should  have  let  this  young 
friend  of  mine  have  eight  hours'  sleep  after  the 
fatigue  of  yesterday." 

'*  He  was  the  offender.  He  called  me  at  day- 
light. He  wished  to  see  his  Uncle  Stan  and 
hear  news  of  Rue.  After  we  learned  she  had 
rested  so  quietly  and  was  better  we  walked  to 
Avondale  and  arranged  to  go  to  Oxford  to-day." 

"  Not  to-day  ;  surely  you  will  not  leave  us  so 
soon?" 

''My  sister  expects  us.  Delay  would  alarm 
her,  as  she  knows  Hue  has  been  ill  since— since 
our  loss,"  The  frowning  brow  and  the  flash  of 
the  blue  eyes  gave  angry  emphasis  to  the  trem- 
bling lines  about  the  grieved  mouth.  The  boy's 
hand  touched  his  father's,  who  clasped  it  firmly 
as  he  added :  "  My  leave  is  nearly  ended,  and  as 
my  son  will  remain  with  my  sister  I  wish  to  see 


228  THE  MODERN  HAGAR 

something  of  her  new  home.  My  sister's  hus- 
band, Mr.  McCormack,  is  one  of  the  professors 
in  the  college,  and  it  is  the  best  I  can  do  for  my 
son  to  leave  him  there  until  he  is  old  enough  to 
enter  West  Point,     He  wishes  to  be  a  soldier." 

All  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  boy.  He  was 
looking  at  Molly.  The  girl,  calmly  unconscious 
of  self,  or  rather  with  the  poise  of  superior  age, 
reached  out  her  hand,  and,  drawing  the  boy  to 
her  side,  took  his  cap  in  one  hand  and  with  the 
other  smoothed  the  tumbled  black  locks  that 
were  shading  the  dark,  flashing  eyes.  The  two 
officers  looked  at  her  and  then  at  each  other,  and 
walked  together  to  the  gate. 

"Whom  does  that  young  girl  remind  you  of, 
Stan?" 

"Of  Margaret — the  same  lovely,  unselfish 
nature,  bright  and  sweet  and  womanly.  I  wish 
my  namesake  was  the  elder  of  those  two." 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use.  He  would  never  love 
her  as  he  does  Hue." 

"  Rue  is  the  elder,  and  they  are  like  brother 
and  sister." 

' '  I  think  you  mistake  the  relationship.  Eue 
regards  Stan  as  a  younger  brother,  and  now,  sor- 
rowing   for  and   with   him,  she   gives  him   the 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAB.  220 

affection  she  gave  his  mother  and  Willy.  But 
the  boy  worships  her  as  a  queen  absolute.  I  do 
not  suppose  he  would  ever  presume  to  offer  her  a 
more  personal  love ;  but  it  will  keep  him  free. 
He  loves  her  as  I  loved  her  mother." 

"And  you  know,  Carson,  what  that  brought. 
You  were  her  brother,  as  you  have  been  mine. 
But  I  do  not  know  why  you  should  say  Stan 
would  presume  if  he  loved  Rue.  Any  gentleman 
may  love  a  xoure  and  free  maiden.  If  they  cared 
for  each  other,  as  lovers  do,  you  know  how  gladly 
I  would  give  my  daughter  to  your  son.  There  is 
no  inequality  except  age.  But  with  Rue's  im- 
perious temper  that  would  be  a  fatal  inequality. 
If  she  ever  marries  I  think  she  will  marry  some 
one  many  years  her  senior.  And  I  am  not  sure 
but  that  would  be  best.  She  has  reverence  for 
age ;  and,  with  her,  love  will  go  with  reverence. 
If  it  should  not  her  life  will  be  ruined.  I  wish 
your  son  was  nearer  your  own  age,  Carson." 

And  the  solitary  arm  was  thrown  over  his  com- 
rade's  shoulder.  They  smiled  sadly  in  each 
other's  eyes  and  walked  back  to  the  steps.  The 
doctor,  who  Avas  tying  up  a  climbing  rose,  be- 
gan: 

*'My  girl  wants  to  keep  your  boy,   Captain 


230  THE  MODERN  HA  GA  R. 

Carson.  The  great  grief  of  her  life  is  that  she 
cannot  be  a  soldier.  She  was  at  West  Point  last 
summer  with  my  sister ;  and  that  visit  to  her 
aunt,  together  with  the  influence  of  the  cadets' 
buttons,  has  developed  a  military  mania  that 
threatens  to  be  incurable.  Now,  this  boy  of 
yours  looks  a  born  flghter,  and  her  woman's 
instinct  tells  her  there  is  material  for  a  hero. 
So  she  would  fain  keep  him.  Her  mother 
will  aid  and  abet  her  in  her  design.  You 
had  better  yield  gracefully  and  stay  two  or 
three  days  longer.  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  mil 
visit  your  defection  upon  me.  I  pray  you 
stay." 

^'  If  I  had  longer  time  at  my  disposal,  doctor, 
I  would  stay  until  I  feared  you  were  beginning 
to  regret  your  hospitality.  I  must  go  with  my 
son  to-day ;  but,  if  your  invitation  hold  good 
until  then,  I  Avill  return  here  day  after  to-mor- 
row." 

*'It  holds  good  for  then  and  for  all  the  fu- 
ture ;  whenever  you  can  give  us  a  day,  or  a 
week,  or  a  month,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  a 
guest  at  '  Rosebank.'  " 

"Thanks!  I  shall  remind  you  of  that  invita- 
tion whenever  a  kindly  fortune  brings  me  near 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  231 

Cincinnati.  I  hope  I  may  see  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 
before  we  go.  I  trust  she  has  slept  since  day- 
break. Leszinksky  told  me  that  she  would  stay 
with  Rue  all  night." 

''She  had  a  short  sleep.  She  says  she  is  not 
at  all  tired.  She  is  with  Rue  now.  I  never  knew 
my  wife  to  tire  when  either  sympathy  or  regard 
demanded  endurance.  She  has  a  wonderful  fund 
of  reserved  vitality  and  nervous  force  ;  and  even 
better  staying  qualities  than  my  stolid,  solid 
little  Molly,  to  whom  I  have  neglected  to  present 
you." 

Molly  shook  hands  with  Captain  Carson,  and 
then  smilingly  sank  back  into  her  favorite  corner 
with  her  head  leaning  against  the  vine- covered 
baluster. 

The  doctor.  "This  is  Molly's  reception-room, 
Captain  Carson.  Slie  likes  the  upholstery  of 
vines  and  the  gilding  of  sunlight.  The  child  of 
a  butterfly,  she  revels  in  air  and  sunshine." 

Holly.  ' '  I  shall  tell  mamma  how  you  slander 
her.  It  would  serve  you  right,  papa,  if  your 
butterflies  borrowed  the  bee's  sting.  But  time 
will  do  us  justice.  Uncle  Stan  and  Captain  Car- 
son, if  they  stay  with  us  a  few  days,  will  see 
how  you  snub  and  ill-treat  your  womenkind." 


332  THE  MODERN  HA  GA R. 

Tlie  doctor.  "A  houseliold  of  victims,  upon 
my  word !  Would  it  disturb  you  too  much, 
yon  trampled  little  worm — no,  I  mean  you  sun- 
singed  papillon — if  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  how 
soon  we  are  likely  to  get  our  breakfast  ?  " 

Molly.  "  I  am  glad  there  is  something  you  can 
learn  of  me,  papa.  Breakfast  is  ready  and  wait- 
ing ;  I  made  the  waffles  my  own  self  with  my 
nice  freckled  hands.  I  told  Samson  not  to  ring 
the  bell ;  it  might  disturb  Cousin  Rue.  If  you 
think  mamma  cannot  come  I  am  ready  to  serve 
at  the  coffee  urn." 

The  doctor.  "  You  are  a  miraculous  golden  but- 
terfly. Why,  child,  you  can  think!  You  are 
the  loveliest  specimen  of  the  genus  lepidoiotera 
that  was  ever  alight  upon  rose  or  honej^suckle. 
Let  me  look  closely  at  your  speckled  wings,  that 
I  may  classify  you,"  taking  her  hands.  ''And 
with  these  you  actually  fanned  common  eggs 
into  cates  that  are  fit  for  a  royal  table  ?  Come, 
my  friends ;  with  stomach  expectant  and  mind 
at  ease,  I  can  bid  you  come." 

In  the  breakfast-room  they  met  other  guests ; 
for  the  convention  had  brought  visitors  to  every 
private  house  in  Cincinnati. 

Breakfast  was  over,  and  yet  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  283 

had  not  put  in  an  appearance.  The  gentle- 
men had  gathered  in  '^Molly's  reception-room," 
but  Molly  herself  had  gone  to  visit  her  new 
cousin. 

Carson's  conveyance  was  driven  to  the  gate 
and  duly  packed  with  his  and  his  son's  belong- 
ings. The  doctor  had  decided  that  Hue  must 
not  be  excited  by  adieus  ;  so,  leaving  messages 
for  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  and  the  two  girls,  Carson 
and  the  boy  went  Oxfordwards. 

Then  the  doctor  again  visited  Rue.  Meethig 
Leszinksky  as  he  left  the  child,  he  said  : 

''  Go  and  tell  Rue  that  you  are  going  to  ride 
with  me  ;  then  leave  her  with  Molly.  My  wife 
is  sleeping  now,  but  she  will  soon  be  with  the 
girls,  and  you  can  trust  Molly." 

Leszinksky  found  Molly  by  his  daughter's 
bedside,  smiling  down  upon  the  child,  whose 
hand  she  held.  There  was  a  faint  pink  tinge 
on  Rue's  pale  face,  and  the  eyes  had  lost  their 
sad  mistiness. 

"  I  am  going  to  ride  with  Doctor  Carisbrooke, 
Rue.  I  shall  leave  your  cousin  Molly  as  your 
guardian  while  1  am  gone.'' 

"I  will  take  good  care  of  her.  Uncle  Stan. 
Papa  told  me  just  what  I  might  give  her." 


234  THE  MODERN  HAGAR 

As  Leszinksky  kissed  his  daughter  she  whis- 
pered . 

"  I  do  like  Molly,  papa  ;  I  did  not  have  to  try. 
I  am  so  glad  she  is  my  cousin.  Good-by,  papa. 
I  hope  you  will  have  a  x)leasant  ride." 

After  they  had  left  the  house,  and  the  bays 
were  proving  that  they  deserved  the  doctor's 
praise,  he  began  abruptly  : 

"  Rue  is  decidedly  better.  I  think  Molly  will 
be  the  best  physician  we  can  call.  Companion- 
ship and  nature  will  do  more  for  the  child  than 
drugs  could.     How  old  is  Rue  ? " 

"  She  was  thirteen  last  spring." 

"  She  is  a  child  in  years  and  appearance,  but  a 
woman  in  sorrows  and  intensity  of  feeling.  Only 
a  child  can  bring  back  her  childhood  and  make 
her  forget  her  griefs.  The  circle  of  her  sym- 
pathy has  been  too  narrow  and  its  personality  too 
intense.  Her  troubles  are  so  near  her  that  they 
seem  gigantic ;  we  must  try  to  widen  her  hori- 
zon. Hers  is  a  perfect  though  a  delicate  organ- 
ism. She  has  unflinching  self-control  and  the 
most  exquisitely  sensitive  nerves :  it  is  the  true 
heroic  temperament.  This  morning,  when  she 
told  me  she  was  trying  to  live  for  your  sake,  I 
mentally  resolved  that  with  God's  blessing  she 


JN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  235 

should  live  ;  for  I  knew  she  could.  With  her 
temperament  and  her  strength  of  will,  what  she 
may  choose  is  a  vital  question.  She  has  no  real 
physical  disorder,  but  a  very  decided  affectional 
and  moral  ailment ;  she  has  been  most  unheal th- 
fuUy  exposed  to  strong  emotions.  The  cure  is  a 
natural,  child-like  life,  Avhere  simple  likings  may 
happily  take  the  place  of  her  uprooted  attach- 
ments. Molly's  calmness  and  sweetness  of  dis- 
position is  a  restful  sedative  for  her — the  best  w^e 
can  give  her  w^hile  her  nerves  are  quivering  from 
this  recent  wrench.  But  to  be  wdth  Molly  for 
any  length  of  time  would  be  a  fresh  injury.  She 
would  make  an  idol  of  Molly  ;  and  we  must  keep 
her  from  idols.  If  I  considered  Molly,  for  her 
sake  I  would  beg  you  to  leave  Kue  with  us.  She 
could  only  do  IMolly  good  ;  and  Rue  has  captured 
my  wdfe,  and  I  think  she  could  soon  hang  my 
scalp  at  her  girdle." 

''Nothing  could  be  kinder,  Carisbrooke,  than 
your  frankness.  I  am  sure  you  w^ould  Avillingly 
do  ail  or  any  one  thing  that  would  benefit  Eue. 
Nothing  is  so  valuable  to  me  as  your  advice.  I 
can  see  where  I  have  failed  to  do  what  was  best 
for  my  child.  She  lost  so  much  when  she  lost 
her  mother  that  I  could  not,  even  for  her  sake, 


236  THE  MODERN  HAGAIi. 

force  her  to  further  loss.  And  there  was  a  more 
sacred  consideration.  The  last  promise  I  made 
Margaret  was  never  to  separate  the  child  from 
the  chief  who  had  sacrificed  all  that  an  Indian 
values  to  save  her  from  a  death  of  torture." 

''I  think,  Leszinksky,  you  take  to  yourself 
needless  blame.  I  do  not  think  under  any  cii'- 
cumstances  you  could  have  so  ruled  Rue's  life 
that  there  would  have  been  no  strong  emotions, 
no  absorbing  interests  in  it.  The  moral  malady 
— and  it  is  a  maladj^ — is  in  the  blood  ;  she  had 
nothing  from  her  mother  except  the  i^ower  of 
loving  absolutely  and  devotedly.  From  the  long 
line  of  Leszinkskys  she  gathered  her  imperious- 
ness  and  her  unfaltering  adhesion  to  a  friend  or 
a  cause.  You  Avere  modified  by  the  Mason  graft, 
but  Rue  counts  no  graft  this  side  of  the  stern 
Macdonalds,  except  that  one  quality  her  mo- 
ther's brooding  love  gave  her.  I  had  a  long  talk 
with  Carson  last  night,  and  I  cross-questioned 
him  closely.  To  study  this  case  and  understand 
my  patient  I  had  to  make  a  moral  diagnosis  of 
the  symptoms  shown  in  her  life  and  character. 
Knowing  the  disease,  we  may  find  that  poisons 
are  curative.  Sorrows  are  sometimes  fevers  that 
acclimate  the  soul  to  its  residence  in  the  tiesh. 


iiV  THE  GA  TEVTA  Y  OF  WAR.  237 

You  and  I  both  believe  in  a  special  Providence, 
and  with  that  belief  conies  faith  in  the  ministra- 
tion of  sorrow.  We  do  not  know  why  evil  ex- 
ists, but  we  do  know  that  God  brings  good  out 
of  evil.  Rue' s  iDresent  pain  may  be  a  safeguard 
for  the  future,  a  training  against  a  time  of  trou- 
ble when  neither  you  nor  I  could  shield  her. 
All  that  we  can  do  now  is  to  try  and  teach 
her  to  bear  adversity  as  a  God- sent  trial  of 
obedience." 

''  Where  do  you  advise  me  to  place  her  ? " 

^'With  some  one  who  is  kindly  but  firm; 
some  one  more  just  than  loving.  Carson  told 
me  you  had  determined  to  leave  her  in  Oxford 
with  his  sister.    What  is  she  like  ?" 

''  She  is  Just  what  you  describe,  and  E,ue  likes 
her  without  being  fond  of  her." 

''  Then  Eue  will  be  in  good  hands.  But  there 
is  a  husband.     Who  and  what  is  he  ? " 

"A  Calvinist,  an  Abolitionist,  and  a  fanatic, 
but  honest  and  sincere.  At  least  so  Carson  says, 
and  Carson  is  the  best  judge  of  men  that  I  know 
— that  is,  when  he  is  unprejudiced.  And  I  as- 
sure you  that  in  the  beginning  he  was  not  preju- 
diced in  Mr.  McCormack's  favor." 

' ' '  Honest    and    sincere '  —  that    sounds  well. 


238  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

But  if  he  makes  his  isms  personal— for  instance, 
should  he  reflect  upon  you  as  a  slave-holding 
fiend,  which  as  a  fanatic  he  might  do— he  will 
have  a  battle  with  Rue  on  the  moment." 

"If  he  is  a  kindly  man  and  a  man  of  sense  he 
will  not  be  likely  to  antagonize  a  child." 

"  To  be  kindly  and  sensible  would  be  inconsis- 
tent with  'Calvinist,  Abolitionist,  and  fanatic' 
There  is  more  of  the  diabolic  than  the  divine  in 
that  trinity.  My  hope  is  in  his  wife's  good 
qualities.  But  E-ue  must  stay  with  us  until  I 
see  that  it  is  better  she  should  go.  You  consent, 
do  you  not?" 

"  Yes.  I  thank  you  no  less  for  the  invitation 
than  I  do  for  the  promise  to  send  her  to  Oxford 
when  you  see  that  it  is  well  she  should  go.  Now 
that  is  settled,  there  is  another  and  a  very  seri- 
ous matter  upon  which  I  wish  to  consult  you." 

'^  You  are  not  ill,  Leszinksky  ? " 

''No  ;  it  is  not  the  doctor  I  wish  to  consult 
now,  but  the  man  of  cool  judgment  and  strict 
honor." 

"Your  preamble  confuses  me.  Do  I  blush 
visibly?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  think  you  do  ;  there  is  a  modest 
tinge  in  your  nose." 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  239 

*' Before  you  begin  the  'serious  matter'  I 
must  make  a  five  minutes'  call  at  this  house, 
where  I  have  a  patient.  The  bays  know  they 
are  to  stop.  Will  you  hold  the  reins  until  I 
return  1" 

When  the  doctor  came  back  he  turned  his 
horses  westward  and  drove  out — the  then  favor- 
ite drive — to  the  Mill  Creek  House.  Not  a  word 
was  said  until  they  were  on  the  smooth  turnpike. 
Leszinksky  was  frowning  at  his  thoughts  when 
the  doctor  reined  in  the  bays  and  said  : 

''  ]N"ow  I  can  hear  what  you  have  to  tell  me.  I 
have  an  hour  to  spare  before  my  next  visit." 

Leszinksky  began  abruptly : 

''Did  Carson  tell  you  anything  of  the  attack 
upon  Bouie's  Hill?  I  do  not  mean  the  general 
facts ;  of  course  you  know  them — I  told  you 
those  last  night  when  I  was  telling  you  the 
causes  of  Rue's  illness.  But  did  Carson  men- 
tion a  discovery  that  he  believed  proved  the  at- 
tack to  have  been  the  result  of  criminal  insti- 
gation?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  could  have  strengthened  his  be- 
lief, but  did  not.  Until  last  night,  when  Carson 
told  this  story,  I  had  regarded  as  an  unfounded 
suspicion  my  brother    Robert's    idea   thafc   the 


240  THE  MODERN  HAG AR. 

horse  which  killed  Tom  Cartaret  was  accessory 
to  a  murder." 

''  Kobert  had  such  a  suspicion  ? " 

"Had  and  has.  I  tried  to  reason  him  out 
of  the  belief — for  with  him  it  is  more  than 
a  suspicion.  I  did  succeed  in  keeping  him 
from  any  open  expression  of  his  opinion,  but 
I  know  he  is  not  convinced  of  Hartley's  inno- 
cence." 

'^Then  he  suspects  Hartley  of  guilt  there  ?" 

"  I  tell  you  he  believes  it.  Hartley  bought  the 
horse  in  England  for  Tom— an  English  thorough- 
bred. He  warned  Tom  that  he  was  ill-tempered 
and  unruly  in  the  hunting-field — a  warning  tliat 
would  have  little  effect  with  such  a  rider  as  Tom 
Cartaret.  It  was  a  splendid  animal,  easy-gaited, 
and  with  wonderful  length  of  stride.  Tom  could 
have  sold  him  for  three  times  the  price  he  gave  ; 
it  was  an  extraordinarily  low  price.  But  that  was 
explained  by  what  Robert  learned  after  Tom's 
death.  Hartley  either  did  not  know  or  did  not 
tell  Tom  that  the  brute  was  viciously  revengeful. 
He  had  killed  a  groom  in  the  stable- yard  of  his 
owner  in  Surrey,  apparently  without  provoca- 
tion. It  was  afterwards  learned  that  tlie  horse 
IkkI   refused  a    jump   that  morning  which   the 


m  THE  GATEWA  Y  OF  WAR.  241 

groom,  with  spur  and  wlii}),  had  forced  him  to 
take.     He  killed  Tom  Cartaret  much  the  same 
way  and  for  the  same  reason,  after  the  hunt  was 
over  and  he  had  dismounted  in  the  field." 
^^  Do  you  believe  now  that  Hartley  knew  ? " 
'^Frankly,    I  am  somewhat  in   doubt.     In  a 
jury-box  I  could  not  conscientiously-  say,   '  Not 
guilty';    my  verdict  would  be,    'Not   j)roven.' 
What  do  you  think  of  the  value  of  the  man's 
testimony  who  saw  Hartley's  servant  with  the 
mob  at  Bouie's  Hill?     Is  he  a  reliable  witness?" 
^'  Ha  is  an  uneducated  frontiersman.     He  was 
in  the  First  Dragoons  and  was  afterwards  a  scout 
with  the  regiment.     He  is  cool  in  temper  and 
judgment,  slow  and  cautious— a  simple-minded, 
honest,  truthful,  upright  Christian.     He  was  the 
bravest  soldier,   the  most  courageously  devoted 
and  loyal,  that  I  ever  knew.     He  is  a  cripple  for 
life  through  a  martyrdom  he  suffered  to  save  the 
command  from  an  ambush.     I  could  not  in  any 
way  doubt  his  word  if  he  was  sure  of  the  miscre- 
ant's identity.     But  he  has  never  said  he  was 
sure.     He  saw  the  fellow  only  by  starlight,  and 
was  struck  by  a  resemblance  of  outline  and  of 
voice  which   j^uzzled  him  at  the   time.      When 
he    recollected    the   resemblance  afterwards    he 


242  THE  MODERN  HAGAR, 

thought  it  was  this  *  familiar'  of  Hartley's. 
But  he  has  always  insisted  that  there  is  an 
uncertainty  in  his  mind  as  to  the  identity." 

*'But  thatisnot  all?" 

''  No  ;  that  is  Pike's  testimony.  In  the  house 
where  Mrs.  Carson  w^as  killed  her  youngest  son 
had  a  rifie-ball  and  a  charge  of  buckshot  sent 
through  him.  Steams,  another  scout,  a  cool 
though  desperate  fighter,  says  that  as  the  Big 
Chief  fell  beside  him  one  of  the  attacking  party 
in  the  house  called  out,  '  He  is  finished  ;  now-  for 
that  little  tiger-cat  beside  the  squaw,  then  our 
w^ork  is  done.'  That  would  seem  to  mean  the 
last  of  the  Indians;  but  Carson  and  Stearns 
both  think  that  Rue  was  meant— that  in  the 
dim  light  Willy  was  mistaken  for  Rue.  This 
is  the  evidence  upon  which  they  found  their 
belief." 

Leszinksky  took  a  roughly-scrawled  scrap  of 
paper  from  his  pocket-book  and  gave  it  to  the 
doctor,  who  said : 

**  Carson  told  me  of  this.  To  him  it  seems 
conclusive.     It  is  only  part  of  a  sentence." 

"Yes;  a  mere  fragment— a  half -burned  slip 
crushed  into  a  newly-filled  pipe.  It  was  found 
in  the  pocket  of  a  man  the  Big  Chief  killed. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  243 

When  wounded  and  dying  he  sent  his  hatchet 
through  the  fellow's  skull.  It  was  Lo-loch-ta- 
hoo-la's  last  effort.  If  this  scrap  of  writing 
means  what  Carson  tliinks,  the  dying  Indian 
struck  down  an  assailant  of  the  child  for  whose 
sake  he  had  given  up  his  tribe  and  his  place  in 
the  councils  of  his  people." 

The  doctor  slowly  spelled  out  these  words  : 
*'kil  the  injun  beef  our  we  kin  git  at  the  yung 
1  u  want  oute  ov  the  wai.  yu  aint  gin  me  en- 
nuf  munny  to  git  bill  2." 

^' Who  found  this?" 

"  Stearns.  He  and  Carson  searched  every 
corpse  that  w^as  left  on  the  ground.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  they  killed  Iavo  men  after  the  troops  got 
there — two  who  were  wounded  in  the  hall. 
Carson  was  crazed  by  his  losses.  I  never  knew 
him  vindictive  before." 

' '  Not  much  to  be  wondered  at  when  a  man's 
wife  and  child  are  cruelly  murdered.  Who  was 
the  first  to  connect  these  words  with  intended  in- 
jury to  Rue  ? ' ' 

"Carson.  The  moment  Pike  told  the  story  of 
the  two  men  he  saw  and  the  resemblance  to 
Hartley's  servant  Carson  insisted  he  had  found 
the  key  to  the  assault.     It  had  been  almost  inex- 


244  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

plicable  :  to  come  so  near  tlie  fort  and  make  such 
a  persistent  and  determined  attack  upon  a  house 
belonging  to  an  officer,  and  which  they  found  so 
strongly  guarded.  I  do  not  think  that  mob 
would  have  gone  such  lengths  unless  some  sin- 
ister influence  urged  them  on.  It  was  proved 
afterward  that  two  men  had  spent  money  with- 
out stint  in  furnishing  whiskey  to  the  crowd. 
One  of  these  men  was  identified  as  the  man 
killed  in  the  hall — the  fellow  with  this  note  in 
his  pocket." 

''Did  Pike  recognize  the  dead  man  as  one  of 
those  he  saw?" 

''Not  positively.  Before  he  saw  the  corpse 
Pike  described  the  person  who  was  with  the 
one  he  supposed  to  be  Hartley's  old  servant  as 
'a  black  man  'most  as  big  as  me.  He  had  a 
long-barrelled  rifle.  T  could  see  plain  the  star- 
liglit  a-shinin'  along  the  barrel.'  " 

"Was  it  a  good  description  of  the  dead 
man?" 

"  One  of  those  descriptions  that  may  be  made 
to  fit.  The  man  measured  six  feet  four  inches 
— Pike  is  over  seven  feet.  His  face  was  black- 
ened. He  had  only  a  revolver  in  his  hand  and 
another  in  his  belt ;  but  there  was  a  lons^  rifle  in 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  245 

tlie  liall  wMch  might  have  been  his.  There  is  not 
an  iota  of  positive  proof  to  sustain  Carson's  be- 
lief. He  has  an  okl  prejudice  against  Hartley. 
It  would  be  horrible  to  ascribe  such  a  crime  to 
an  innocent  man.  You  can  see  how  I  fear  catch- 
ing the  infection  of  this  suspicion.  I  cannot 
banish  it  from  my  mind,  and  I  dare  not  enter- 
tain it  without  more  direct  and  convincing  evi- 
dence." 

"  Carson  tells  me  that  Stearns  is  a  very  acute 
observer,  and  that  Stearns  believes  as  he  does." 

"Stearns  is  like  Carson  in  being  read}^  to  be- 
lieve any  evil  of  Hartley.  Until  last  night  I 
have  constantly  combated  Carson's  susioicioiis, 
but  now — " 

Apparently  stopping  for  a  word,  Leszinksky 
was  silent  until  the  doctor,  as  he  turned  his 
horses  citywards,  suggested  : 

''  You  mean  that  now  you  see  differently  ? " 

"No,  not  differently  in  the  affair  at  Bouie's 
Hill — no  absolute  difference  tbere — but  I  now 
know  that  Hartley  does  not  stop  at  crime  when 
he  wishes  to  accom^^lish  liis  object." 

"  What !  something  new  since  last  night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  something  new  that  I  learned  last  night 
from  an  inmate  of  your  liouse." 


346  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

"Lucy?" 

*'  Yes.  Then  you  know  her  history  ? " 
"Not  one  syllable  of  her  past,  except  a  theory 
deduced  from  circumstances.  She  came  to  us 
a  waif,  and  she  remains  a  mystery.  Four 
years  ago  this  fall  I  was  one  day  at  St.  John's 
Hospital.  I  had  a  private  patient  there.  As 
I  was  leaving  I  met  Sister  Anthony  at  the 
door.  We  were  talking  of  my  patient  when 
a  hollow-eyed,  spectrally-thin,  ill-clad  woman 
staggered  up  the  walk  and  fell  senseless  on  the 
steps.  Sister  Anthony  had  her  brought  in,  and 
I  stopped  to  see  what  could  be  done.  It  was 
a  case  of  exhaustion  from  fatigue  and  starva- 
tion. The  woman  had  evidently  made  a  long 
and  weary  journey  on  foot.  I  thought  then 
that  she  was  an  escaped  slave,  but  I  have  since 
concluded  I  was  mistaken  in  that.  There  was 
something  so  touching  in  her  patient  and  hope- 
less manner  that  it  fairly  haunted  me.  So 
to  ease  my  anxiety  I  turned  her  over  to  my 
wife,  although  I  might  have  known  that  was  a 
sure  method  of  perpetuating  the  trouble.  Her 
recovery  was  slow,  and  she  seemed  to  suffer 
from  the  scenes  in  the  ward,  so  we  brought  her 
to  the  hill.     I  think  the  human  interest  she  soon 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  24? 

took  in  the  family,  and  grateful  appreciation  of 
my  wife' s  care,  saved  her  life.  From  the  day  she 
saw  Molly  she  began  to  mend.  I  had  studied 
her  closely,  and  I  found  there  was  an  aj)parently 
incurable  mental  trouble — not  exactly  insanity, 
but  a  harmless  mania.  I  can  only  characterize 
it  as  an  abnormal  and  passionately  intense  devo- 
tion to  children,  especially  young  girls.  It  was 
plain  to  me  that  Lucy  had  lost  a  child  who  if 
living  would,  I  imagine,  be  near  Rue's  age. 
That  first  winter  Lucy  nursed  Mollj^  through  a 
severe  and  dangerous  attack  of  scarlet  fever.  I 
have  never  known  so  careful  and  faithful  a 
nurse.  In  my  wife's  slight  illnesses  she  is  de- 
voted and  untiring.  Now  I  come  to  the  myste- 
rious phase  of  Lucy.  We  soon  found  that  any 
question  concerning  her  past  threw  her  into  a 
state  of  great  excitement,  and,  if  incautiously 
continued,  of  agonized  terror.  So  the  past  was 
tacitly  dropped.  We  found  her  joerfectly  honest 
and  trustworthy.  But  although  unselfishly  care- 
less of  sacrifice  of  her  personal  comfort,  she  care- 
fully hoarded  every  cent  that  was  given  her. 
My  wife  built  up  a  romance  on  that  one  incon- 
sistent trait,  and  imagined  that  Lucy  had  some 
one  near  to  her  in  great  need.     The  sum  grew 


248  THE  3I0DERN  HAG  AIL 

rapidly  to  very  fair  proportions.  In  addition  to 
her  wages  presents  of  money  were  made  to  her. 
She  is  an  excellent  hair-dresser,  and  my  wife 
found  her  a  clientele  at  the  Burnet  House 
and  gave  her  time  to  attend  these  outside  en- 
gagements. The  April  after  she  came  to  us  she 
suddenly  disappeared.  She  took  nothing  with 
her  except  a  small  parcel  no  larger  than  her  ordi- 
nary daily  jmckage  and  her  savings,  which  were 
in  a  little  box  Molly  had  given  her.  We  were 
much  distressed  and  made  all  inquiry  that 
seemed  prudent.  I  had  not  then  given  up  my 
idea  of  her  being  a  runaway,  and  I  do  not  mind 
telling  you  that  I  thought  I  was  harboring  one. 
My  wife  was  sure  she  had  been  a  slave,  brought 
up  by  a  kind  and  lovingl}^  careful  mistress.  Her 
manner  and  her  affectionateness  seemed  to  prove 
it.  Before  our  inquiries  were  of  any  avail  she 
returned  as  suddenly  as  she  had  disappeared. 
Only  in  place  of  a  certain  excitement  of  manner 
we  had  noticed  just  before  she  left  there  was 
a  fixed  despondency.  Question  of  any  kind 
brought  on  violent  hysteria.  We  gave  up  all 
questioning  and  left  her,  as  she  seemed  to  pre- 
fer, free  to  come  and  go  as  she  chose.  She 
gradually  settled  into  her  old  place  in  the  fami- 


iN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  ^49 

1y,  but  the  same  history  has  rei^eated  itself  every 
year.  Now  tell  me  what  has  this  to  do  with 
Hartley  ?  But  wait ;  here  we  are  in  Fourth 
Street,  and  at  this  house  I  have  a  call  to  make 
and  another  next  door.  Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  drive  on  to  the  Burnet.  You  will 
find  my  coachman  waiting  there.  In  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  I  will  join  you  in  the  read- 
ing-room. I  am  sorry  I  have  to  get  out  here.  I 
acknowledge  the  thorns  of  curiosity  are  pricking 
me  through  and  through." 

Leszinksky  drove  on  as  Dr.  Carisbrooke  had 
directed.  He  found  the  coachman  waiting.  He 
went  in  by  the  Vine  Street  door,  passed  the  re- 
ception-room, and  at  the  next  door  he  came  face 
to  face  with  Hartley. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

**  He  ■vraytied  after  no  pompe  ne  reverence ; 
Ne  maked  him  a  spiced  conscience, 
But  Cristes  and  his  apostles  twelve 
He  taught,  and  first  he  folwed  them  himselve. 

For  such  lawe  as  a  man  giveth  another  \right 
He  should  himselve  usen  it  hy  right."' 

LESZINKSKY,  with  Hartley  in  his  thoughts, 
instantly  recognized  him,  which,  had  he 
taken  it,  would  have  given  him  an  advan- 
tage in  the  interview  that  was  to  decide  the 
doubtful  question  of  Hartley's  guilt.  If  the 
man  was  innocent  of  the  crime  of  which  he  was 
suspected  he  would  be  unconscious  of  the  sus- 
picion. The  first  instant  of  consciousness  was 
evidence  against  him  ;  for,  seeing  Leszinksky,  he 
turned  deathly  pale.  Recovering  by  a  quick 
effort,  he  offered  his  hand,  which  offer  Les- 
zinksky ignored.  Then  a  crimson  flush  eclipsed 
the  pallor  of  Hartley's  face. 

Witli  such  testimony  Carson  would  have  es- 
sayed to  force  a  confession,  for  Carson  could  be 

250 


IX  THE  GATUWAY  OF  WAB.  251 

pitiless.  But  the  cliivalrous  delicacy  of  Les- 
zinksky's  nature  unfitted  Mm  for  the  position 
of  accuser.  Not  that  he  lacked  strength  or  force 
of  character,  but  to  be  a  willing  accuser  one 
must  be  brutally  aggressive,  and  that  Leszink- 
sky  could  not  be.  Physical  courage  was  as 
much  in  his  blood  as  its  red  corpuscles  ;  there 
was  no  peculiar  merit  in  its  presence,  although 
its  absence  would  have  been  a  defect.  The  moral 
courage  that  combats  wrong,  like  all  his  moral 
qualities,  even  including  justice,  was  set  in  tlie 
tendernesses  that  are  born  of  human  symx)athy. 
There  was  no  guilt  so  dark  that  he  could  not 
lighten  it  with  pity.  His  very  intolerance  of  evil 
made  him  compassionate  of  the  evil-doer.  He 
had  the  breadth  of  charity  which  prompted 
Burns  to  seek  excuse  and  find  hope  for  ' '  cloven 
Clootie."  Knowing  Hartley  guilty  of  a  lesser 
crime,  he  hesitated  to  accuse  him  of  a  greater 
which  had  not  been,  and  possibly  could  not  be, 
proved.  In  one  particular  his  sense  of  justice 
made  him  Hartley's  advocate.  He  distrusted 
Carsous  suspicions  because  of  Carson's  pre- 
judice. 

Thus   Leszinksky  lost    the   advantage    which 
Hartley's  confusion  gave  him.     Yet  Hartley  was 


252  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

not  altogether  the  gainer  by  this  loss.  The  same 
delicate  perceptive  sense  of  right  that  forbade 
Leszinksky's  belief  in  unproved  gnilt  also  for- 
bade an  appearance  of  trust  in  the  good  faith 
of  a  man  whom  he  suspected  of  a  great  crime, 
and  whom  he  knew  to  be  guilty  of  a  criminal 
misdemeanor. 

As  I  have  said,  Leszinksky  refused  to  touch 
Hartley's  offered  hand.  The  loyal  Christian 
gentleman  had  no  arrogant  self-righteousness. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  manner  that  could 
wound  even  the  sensitiveness  of  over-conscious 
vanity.  But  there  was  a  natural  quality  in  the 
manhood  of  the  man  which  constrained  him  to 
carry  his  self  respect  as  reverently  as  Douglas 
carried  the  heart  of  Bruce.  Hartley  withdi'ew 
his  extended  hand.  Pulling  his  hat  over  his 
brows  until  it  shaded  his  face,  where  the  red 
shame  had  burnt  into  a  white  heat  of  rage,  he 
turned  to  go  into  the  room  which  he  had  just 
left  when  Leszinksky  spoke:  ''Major  Hartley, 
I  had  intended  to  seek  an  interview  with  you 
later,  but  if  you  are  disengaged  now  I  prefer  not 
to  wait  longer.  Will  you  come  with  me,  or,  if 
you  are  alone,  can  I  see  you  here  \ " 

"This  room  is  open  at  all  times  to  our  delega- 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  253 

tion.     If  you  will  wait  an  instant  at  the  next 
door  I  will  open  it.     That  is  my  private  room." 

"  Certainly  I  will  wait." 

As  Hartley  passed   through    the    committee- 
room  Leszinksky  saw,   among  others  who  were 
seated  around  a  long  table,  the  two  gentlemen  to 
whom  Dr.  Carisbrooke  had  introduced  him  the 
preceding  evening.      To  avoid   tlie  delay  w^hich 
chance  encounter  with  the  doctor's  friends  might 
cause,  and  anxious,  now  that  it  w^as  begun,  to 
have  this  explanation,   Leszinksky  crossed  the 
little  space  to  i^Q  next  door,  w^hich  Hartley  had 
indicated  as  his  private  room.     Leaning  against 
the  casing,  with  his  back  to  the  committee-room, 
he  waited  admittance.      Hartley's  request  had 
been  that  he  should  wait  there ;    consequently 
he  remained,  although  he   could  hear  Hartley 
talking  with  some  one  as  he  walked  about  the 
room.     The  noise  in  the  street,  mingled  with  the 
voices,   made  an  indistinctness  of  sound  which 
was  not  broken  except  by  an  occasional  word  to 
w-hich  the  half -unconscious  listener  attached  no 
meaning.     The  last  few  sentences  were  spoken 
near  the  door  wiiere  he  waited,  and  the  w^ords 
were  clear  and  distinct : 

''  Go  directly  to  the  depot.     The  train  will  not 


25-i  THE  MODERN  II AGAR. 

leave  before  two.  Wait  inside  for  me.  I  will 
come  before  you  leave." 

Leszinksky  thought  he  recognized  the  voice 
that  answered,  ''Yes,  sir." 

At  the  same  moment  Hartley  threw  open  the 
door  for  Leszinksky  to  enter ;  the  door  leading 
to  the  committee-room  closed  after  some  one  who 
was  leaving. 

With  a  repression  of  embarrassment  that  re- 
vealed the  effort  at  self-control,  Hartley  mo- 
tioned Leszinksky  to  a  seat  near  the  window  and 
turned  to  lock  both  doors  while  saying  : 

' '  As  you  wish  to  see  me  alone,  I  will  prevent 
our  being  interrupted. ' ' 

Leszinksky  had  walked  on  to  the  window. 
AVith  a  rapid  glance  he  recognized  the  man  who 
hurriedly  ran  dow^n  the  steps  and  then  up  Vine 
Street.  It  was  the  fellow  who  had  been  Hart- 
ley's servant  when  he  and  Leszinksky  were  in 
the  First  Dragoons.  The  dark,  Jewish  face  was 
so  marked  that  recognition  was  easy  to  one  who 
had  seen  him  daily  during  his  stay  wdth  the  regi- 
ment at  Fort  Gibson. 

Hartley's  nervousness  made  the  turning  of  a 
refractory  lock  more  difficult.  Before  he  had 
mastered  it  and  could  see  his  visitor  the  visitor 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  255 

was  seated  in  the  chair  indicated  with  his  back 
to  the  window. 

With  Leszinksky's  first  word  Hartley's  ex- 
pression grew  confident.  Before  the  sentence 
was  completed  he  was  still  more  at  ease. 

^' Major  Hartley,  when  you  purchased  Lucy 
from  my  wife  did  you  not  consider  yourself 
pledged  to  manumit  her?  Did  you  not  under- 
stand that  the  sale  was  made  to  you  for  one  sole 
reason— that  you  might  give  your  child  and  its 
mother  their  freedom?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  such  was  the  understanding." 
The  question  had  so  completely  relieved  his  ftar 
of  a  more  dangerous  subject  that  he  carelessly 
and  half-sneeringly  added:  "I  suppose  I  paid 
the  full  value  of  the  quadroon  and  the  child — 
possibly  something  over  the  market-price." 

Leszinksky  perfectly  comprehended  the  chang- 
ed manner.  Believing  that  he  was  coming  near 
proof  that  would  justify  Carson's  charge  and  his 
own  growing  susx)icion,  he  resolved  to  guard 
himself  carefully  from  accepting  the  provocation 
which  he  was  sure  was  intended.  It  was  plain 
to  him  that  Hartley  wished  to  find  cause  of 
quarrel  behind  which  he  could  intrench  him- 
self, and,  in  case  of  need,  make  it  a  defence 


256  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

to  more  serious    accusation.      Very   calmly  lie 
answered : 

*^Yes,  the  full  value.  I  think  all  who  assist- 
ed at  the  settlement  so  regarded  it.  My  wife  ac- 
cepted ^something  over  the  market-price,'  be- 
cause she  intended  it  as  a  provision  for  Lucy's 
future.  As  you  know,  we  were  very  poor  and 
could  have  ill  afforded  her  other  assistance ; 
yet  neither  of  us  would  have  consented  to  her 
leaving  her  home  without  any  means  of  support, 
burdened  as  she  was  with  the  care  of  a  young 
child,  unless  some  provision  were  made.  You 
know  how  small  is  the  pay  of  a  lieutenant ;  and 
you  also  know  that  when  Miss  Cartaret  married 
me,  without  her  guardian's  consent,  Judge  Car- 
taret had  the  power  to  suspend  her  income  until 
she  was  twenty-seven  ^^ears  of  age.  Her  income 
was  stopped.  The  sum  was  added  to  the  Carta- 
ret estate,  to  which  your  wife  will  succeed  in 
event  of  my  daughter  dying  unmarried.  I  know 
you  perfectly  understand  this ;  and  you  also 
know  that  all  Mrs.  Leszinksky  could  do  for 
Lucy's  support  was  to  settle  uj^on  her  the  money 
for  which  she  was  sold  to  the  father  of  her 
child.  Mr.  Page  thought  it  a  generous  sum 
that  you  offered.     You  remember   vou  named 


IN  THE  GATEWA  Y  OF  WAR.  257 

the  sum  ;  you  knew  that  Mr.  Page  kindly  took 
charge  of  it  and  invested  it  here  in  Cincinnati  for 
Lucy.  In  the  conversation  I  had  with  you — we 
had  but  one  conversation  on  the  subject,  which  I 
think  was  in  Dr.  Kandall'  s  presence — you  were 
very  grateful  for  Avhat  you  characterized  as  a 
'  generous  arrangement '  ;  you  afterwards  begged 
Mr.  Page  to  keep  it  strictly  in  Lucy's  name,  for 
you  would  '  provide  for  the  child.' 

"  And  I  have  always  done  so." 

"Yes,  I  do  not  doubt  that.  But  have  you 
kept  your  word  to  me,  your  obligation  to  Lucy  \ 
Have  you  manumitted  Lucy  ? " 

''I  gave  her  free  papers  ;  they  were  not  regis- 
tered, but  they  were  valid  without  registration." 

"Did  you  not  hear  that  the  papers  Avere 
stolen?    Did  not  Lucy  tell  you  of  her  loss?" 

"Yes;  but  just  then  there  were  complica- 
tions that  annoyed  me.  And  the  woman  was 
obstinate.  I  refused  to  replace  her  papers  unless 
slie  would  give  up  the  child  ;  I  wished  to  sepa- 
rate the  child  from  her.  I  was  determined  my 
daughter  should  not  be  brought  up  as  the  child 
of  a  quadroon— of  a  slave.  As  you  observed,  she 
is  my  child.  It  was  but  natural  and  proper  for 
me  to  consider  what  was  best  for  lier.'' 


258  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

There  was  evidence  of  genuine  feeling  when 
Hartley  spoke  of  his  daughter.  In  the  dirt  with 
which  he  was  trying  to  cover  crime  that  one 
shining  ray  showed  the  presence  of  a  lost  jewel. 
Knowing  Leszinksky  as  we  do,  it  is  easy  to  know 
how  the  discovery  touched  him. 

^'I  am  very  ready  to  admit  that  it  was  not 
only  '  natural  and  proper,'  but  your  imperative 
duty  to  consider  what  was  '  best  for  your  daugh- 
ter.' A  daughter  is  always  very  dear  to  a  father. 
There  is  no  tie  more  purely  tender.  I  can  easily 
believe  that  it  would  be  intensely,  pitifully  strong 
wlien  conscience  could  find  occasion  to  urge  the 
claim  of  a  nameless  daughter.  I  am  glad  you 
spoke  of  your  daughter."  There  was  a  wonderful 
tenderness  in  the  accent  of  Leszinksky  as  he  said: 

"  It  is  an  excuse  that  I  did  not  make  for  you. 
I  can  see  how  your  love  for  her  led  you  to  a 
wrong,  thinking  it  best  for  her.  But  a  wrong  is 
never  the  best ;  it  is  always  the  worst  thing  we 
can  do  for  love's  sake.  It  made  you  forget  a 
right  that  was  more  sacred  than  yours — tlie 
right  of  the  mother  to  her  child.  In  such  a 
case  as  Lucy's  thelaw  is  more  strictly  just  than 
it  is  to  a  wife  who  claims  right  of  motherhood. 
Law  is  Scriptural  in  its  dealings  with  the  un- 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  259 

wedded  mother.  Like  the  conscience  of  the  pa- 
triarch, it  recognizes  the  supreme  right  of  the 
mother  when  it  gives  Ishmael  to  Hagar.  You 
have  been  more  pitiless  than  the  law.  You 
forced  the  child  from  the  arms  of  the  mother ; 
and  sent  Hagar  into  tbe  wilderness  to  die  alone. 
Lest  she  should  cry  out  in  her  agony,  should 
show  the  world  the  spectacle  of  her  bleeding 
heart,  you  sold  her  as  a  slaved 

The  words  of  the  inspired  though  unconse- 
crated  preacher  went  straight  through  the  encas- 
ing of  crime  that  had  dulled  the  sensibility  of 
conscience.  Starting  to  his  feet  with  the  sudden 
pain,  shrinking  from  the  steady  light  in  the  clear 
eyes  that  seemed  to  look  with  a  divine  compas- 
sion into  the  depths  where  the  hidden  guilt  was 
uncovered.  Hartley  walked  the  floor,  staring 
upon  its  sun-flecked  surface,  as  if  he  found  in  the 
tracery  of  shadows  the  crimes  he  had  committed 
and  the  cri'mes  he  had  contemplated.  Face  to 
face  with  the  evil  that  had  lived  in  him,  that  he 
had  nourished  into  life,  the  gigantic  proportions 
of  the  monster  he  had  invoked  terrified  him. 
Yet  even  in  his  terror  he  resented  in  a  sort  of 
dull,  uninstigative  anger  the  moral  height  from 
which  Leszinksky's  pity  descended. 


2G0  THE  MODERN   HAGAR. 

Conviction  of  guilt  had  not  worked  repent- 
ance ;  if  it  had  such  repentance  would  have  been 
short-lived.  A  sore  must  slough  off  its  foulness. 
The  processes  of  nature  are  slow.  They  are  phy- 
sical revelations  of  the  divine  processes  which 
cleanse  and  heal  a  diseased  moral  nature. 

The  wise  physician  has  learned  the  great  les- 
son to  wait  on  nature.  The  wise  moralist  will 
wait,  while  watching  where  he  may  help,  for  the 
self-effort  which  is  the  first  step  in  the  purifica- 
tion of  a  soul. 

The  only  power  which  will  pierce  the  dry  rock 
and  bring  forth  a  living  stream  had  found  Hart- 
ley. The  most  humanly  loving  teacher  of  this 
century  has  well  said:  "Charity,  having  life  in 
itself,  is  the  opposite  and  destroyer  of  contempt 
as  well  as  hatred."  The  lovely  spirit  that  dwelt 
ill  the  heart  of  the  great  pagan  avIio  declared 
that  "  nothing  human  is  foreign  to  me,"  in  keep- 
ing Leszinksky  from  expression  or  feeling  of 
contempt,  killed  Hartley's  hate.  Yet  the  death 
of  hate  did  not  bring  repentance,  but  remorse — fit 
companion  for  the  great  company  of  indw^elling 
fiends  which  were  gathered  in  the  guest-chamber 
of  the  soul. 

Then  a  tentative  question  was  asked  : 


IN  TEE   GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  gCl 

''  Are  you  willing  to  do  what  is  just  ?— to  keep 
your  promise  and  give  Lucy  lier  freedom?" 

''Is  she  in  Cincinnati?" 

"  Yes." 

The  thought  flashed  through  Hartley's  mind 
that  as  the  ghost  he  had  seen  under  the  lamp- 
light had  proved  a  very  real  presence,  there 
might  also  be  danger  of  that  other  fear  clothing 
itself  in  flesh  and  blood.  With  the  mental  re- 
iteration of  the  question  he  had  been  pondering 
through  the  sleepless  hours  of  the  night,  ''  What 
did  they  discover  at  Bouie's  Hill?"  there  grew 
a  belief  that  his  safety  in  the  future  might  de- 
pend on  the  mercy  of  the  man  who,  in  event 
of  that  discovery,  would  be  the  prosecutor  of 
certain  persons  whose  conviction  would —  He 
dared  not  pursue  his  own  thought  to  its  last 
and  logical  consequence.  Yet'  out  of  this  fear 
grew  defiance. 

Pride,  which  in  its  higher  manifestation  is  one 
of  the  safeguards  of  a  noble  nature,  is  tlie  springe 
which  holds  a  criminal  in  the  slough  of  crime. 
Pride  born  of  self-respect  is  the  guardian  of 
truth.  But  pride  whicli  is  the  offspring  of 
vanity  is  an  instigator  of  lies.  At  its  fatal 
touch  Hartley's  remorse    became    exasperative, 


2G2  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

and  the  healing  sx)irit  of  Repentance  which  was 
hovering  near  sorrowfully  took  its  flight. 

*'  I  will  manumit  Lucy  and  the  deed  can  be  re- 
corded ;  in  addition  I  will  double  or  quadruple 
the  sum  Mrs.  Lesziuksky  settled  upon  her,  if  she 
will  release  all  claim  to  the  child." 

^'In  plain  words,  you  will  free  the  mother  if 
she  will  consent  to  sell  her  child.  AVith  sucli.  a 
condition  I  do  not  think  Lucy  will  accept  her 
freedom.  If  slie  refuses  I  shall  regard  it  as  my 
duty  to  insist  upon  your  keeping  your  promise 
to  the  letter.  You  admit  that  the  manumission 
of  mother  and  child  were  the  terms  of  their  sale. 
You  admit  that  you  gave  Lucy  '  free  impers,' 
which  were  either  lost  or  stolen.  1  insist  that 
you  replace  those  jDapers  at  once  and  without 
condition.  A  trial  of  the  case  now  and  here 
would  be  a  scandal  that  I  would  gladly  avoid  for 
your  wife's  sake.  But  even  to  save  the  soil- 
ing of  a  name  allied  to  the  unsullied  name  of  the 
Cartarets  1  will  not  hold  my  peace  in  the  face  of 
an  injustice  like  this  which  you  have  done.  I 
insist  upon  its  instant  reparation." 

"I  make  no  condition  as  to  Lucy's  manumis- 
sion. I  will  keep  my  promise.  The  offer  of 
settlement  was  the  consideration  for  her  release 


IN  THE   GATEWAY  OF   ^YAR.  2G3 

of  claim  to  tlie  child.  I  proposed  it  to  you  be- 
cause Lucy  would  believe  you,  if  you  tell  her  it 
is  in  the  interest  of  the  child  that  I  ask  her  re- 
linquishment of  her  right." 

''I  am  sure  you  need  not  offer  her  money  to  re- 
pay her  for  the  loss  of  her  child  or  to  tempt  her 
in  its  interest.  You  know  of  what  avail  were 
such  offers  years  ago  before  you  dared  the  high- 
handed crime  of  which  you  force  me  to  speak. 
When  you  urged  your  love  for  your  daughter  I 
thought  I  saw  a  human  motive  for  an  inhuman 
wrong.  I  waited  for  you  to  acknowledge  that 
wrong  and  offer  to  make  what  amend  might  yet 
be  possible  to  the  wronged  mother.  Had  you 
made  such  acknowledgment  and  offered  the  one 
reparation  she  would  accej)t — actual,  personal 
knowledge  of  her  child's  well-being — I  would 
have  ui^ed  to  her  your  love  for  the  child,  your 
wish  and  your  ability  to  secure  its  future.  Now, 
I  ask  you,  what  excuse  have  you  to  make  to 
Lucy,  to  me,  for  the  crime  of  selling  her?  Six 
years  ago  you  sold  her  in  Baltimore  to  a  trader — 
for  a  small  sum,  it  is  true,  but  the  condition  you 
made  was  more  to  you  than  money.  She  was  to  be 
taken  to  the  SouthT^-est  and  sold  to  some  inland 
planter,  who  was  to  be  told  that  she  would  be 


2C4  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

likely  to  run  awaj^  It  seems  your  caution  was 
needful.  Slie  did  run  away.  Half  insane  from 
the  loss  of  her  child  and  her  betrayal  into  slav- 
ery, suspected,  watched,  strong  mother-love  gave 
her  the  patience  to  w^ait  for  opportunity  to  es- 
cape and  the  endurance  to  thread  her  way 
through  forest  and  swamp  and  the  more  danger- 
ous plantations  and  villages  until  she  reached 
Memphis  and  found  the  O'Dowds.  They  as- 
sisted her,  out  of  the  pitiful  pittance  of  poverty, 
to  reach  Cincinnati.  She  has  lived  here,  not  dar- 
ing to  claim  tlie  money  invested  here  for  her,  lest 
you  should  know  that  she  had  escaped  the  fate 
into  which  you  sold  her.  She  is  living  with  the 
Carisbrookes.  I  do  not  think  you  will  care  to 
uncover  to  Robert  Carisbrooke — the  administra- 
tor of  the  estate  to  which  your  wife  is  next  in 
succession  should  disease  or  some  accident,  UJce 
the  one  at  Bouie^  s  Hill^  remove  my  daughter— 
or  to  Br.  Carisbrooke  the  crime  you  committed 
when  you  sold  a  free  woman  into  slavery.  Again 
I  ask,  what  excuse,  what  repai*ation>  will  you 
make  to  Lucy? " 

'^I  will  do  all  you  ask."     The  answer  was  ac- 
quiescent ;  the  look  was  that  of  a  tiger  at  bay. 

*'Yery  Avell;  I  will  have  the  papers  prepared 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  2G5 

and  will  see  you  to-morrow.  When  this  affair  is 
ended  I  have  a  caution  to  give  you.  I  will  tell 
it  you  to-morrow.  Is  your  wife  with  you  in 
Cincinnati  i" 

"Yes;  and  my  sister,  Mrs.  Cartaret."  He 
slightly  accented  the  "Cartaret.''  "They  are 
in  the  house  now.     Will  you  see  them  ? ' ' 

"I  will  call  on  them  to-morrow  when  I  bring 
you  the  papers.  I  am  as  anxious  to  spare  them 
any  knowledge  of  all  this  as  you  could  be.  The 
Cartaret  name,  Margaret's  relatives,  are  very 
dear  to  me.  I  am  with  my  daughter  at  Dr. 
Carisbrooke's.  If  they  know  the  Carisbrookes 
it  will  be  a  needful  courtesy  for  me  to  call  on 
Judge  Cartaret' s  widow  and  daughter." 

"  They  do  know  the  Carisbrookes.  Mrs.  Hart- 
ley and  Mrs.  Cartaret  are  to  take  luncheon  there 
to-day." 

"  Are  you  coming  ? " 

"No." 

"It  will  probably  be  best  for  you  to  come.  I 
am  willing,  for  the  sake  of  the  Cartarets,  to  help 
you  outlive  faults  and  live  down  suspicions.  It 
is  more  necessary  than  you  know  for  me  to  ac- 
cord you  public  recognition,  though  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  until  I  believe  such  suspicions  ut- 


266  TEE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

terly  false  and  baseless  I  cannot  give  my  hand  to 
yon  in  friendsliiiD." 

*'  I  know.  '  The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own.' 
A  Christian  must  be  scrupulous  in  his  recogni- 
tions." 

In  extremest  danger  Hartley  could  not  restrain 
a  sneer.  And  he  knew  now  from  that  mention 
of  the  accident  at  Bouie's  Hill  that  the  danger 
was  extreme.  Leszinksky's  manner  and  Avords 
had  given  him  assurance  of  Leszinksky'  s  silence, 
at  least  until  suspicion  should  be  certainty.  But 
then  there  was  also  in  the  words  an  intimation  of 
danger,  of  necessity  for  caution.  Because  of  this 
intimation,  and  the  assurance  it  gave  of  Leszink- 
sky's silence,  it  was  safe  to  give  the  rein  to  rage, 
which  sought  outlet  in  a  sneer  and  a  taunt.  The 
answer  was  simi^iy  and  calmly  spoken:  "A 
loyal  clasp  of  the  hand  is  the  seal  of  friendship. 
I  cannot  give  such  greeting  to  a  man  whose  ho- 
nor I  doubt.  But  I  promise  you  a  courtesy  that 
will  pass  current  with  the  world.  That  much  I 
do  for  your  wife  and  your  sister.  Anything 
more  will  wait  a  pending  verdict."  There  was  a 
flash  in  the  gray  eyes  like  sunlight  upon  steel, 
and  Hartley,  warned  into  a  semblance  of  respect- 
ful courtesy,  opened  the  door  and  bowed  out  his 
unwelcome  visitor. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  Shame  is  a  shadow  cast  by  sin  ;  yet  shame 
Itself  mar  be  a  glory  and  a  gi-ace 
Kefashioning  the  siu-disfashioued  face." 

ALL  of  Mrs.  Carisbrooke' s  guests  liad  arrived 
punctually  except  Hartley.     Grandison  and 
Horry  brouglit  his  apology  for   ''an  un- 
avoidable detention. ' ' 

At  the  luncheon-table  there  was  again  mention 
of  his  absence  and  further  explanation:  "An 
effort  is  being  made  to  adjust  the  claims  of  the 
New  York  rival  delegations.  Seymour  and  Til- 
den  have  arranged  a  meeting  of  the  '  Hards '  and 
the  '  Softs.'  It  is  hoped  a  compromise  may  be 
effected." 

Then,  with  Mrs.  Carisbrooke's  questioning  as 
excuse,  the  conversation  drifted,  as  all  conver- 
sation did  this  week  in  Cincinnati,  into  politics. 
Grandison,  an  optimist,  believed  "  the  New  York 
deadlock  a  mere  State  quarrel  which  will  be  har- 
monized by  the  necessity  of  union  in  face  of  the 
enemy.     The  Presidential  election  and  its  impor- 

267 


268  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

tance  to  the  Democracy  will  force  the  factions  to 
yield  to  reason." 

Dr.  Carishrooke.  "As  if  factions  ever  regard- 
ed reason ! " 

Horry.  ' '  The  revolution  already  begun  in  the 
two  great  parties  will  not  go  backward.  Look 
at  the  bitter  fight  in  the  broken  fragments  of  the 
Whig  party.  See  how  they  hate  each  other  in 
the  antagonistic  positions  they  have  assumed 
as  'Know-Nothings'  and  'Black  Republicans.' 
The  small  element  of  decency  which  is  left 
claims  to  be  a  National  Union  party.  In  plain 
words,  they  are  Federalists.  They  have  never 
cordially  surrendered  the  monarchical  principle, 
and  they  hate  democracy  ^vith  the  bitter  hate  of 
— \vomen."  A  smile  and  a  bow  to  the  hostess 
made  this  a  challenge,  but  before  it  was  taken  up 
he  continued :  "  These  broken  fragments  will  die 
in  convulsions,  but  they  will  be  fruitful.  The 
progeny  of  the  dragon's- teeth  will  fill  the  land." 

Colonel  Roane.  "What  harm  can  they  do  a 
solid  democracy  1  There  is  a  Saint  George  for 
your  dragon." 

Horry.  "  Hear  me  out,  O  mildest  and  suavest 
of  Arkansians  !  Your  solid  democracy  is  a  pre- 
tence.    It  is  a  lion's  skin  covering  not  c»uo   but 


ly  THE  GATEWAY  OF   WAR.  269 

many  asses.  In  the  beginning  of  the  republic 
it  was  a  solid  fallacy  ;  now  it  is  a  disintegrated 
delusion." 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  ''Mr.  Horry,  you  are  talk- 
ing treason." 

Horry.  "  Which  statement,  madam,  is  another 
proof  of  the  false  quality  of  the  principle  you 
worship  as  divine.  In  a  pure  democracy  treason 
cannot  exist,  either  in  sj^eech  or  in  the  feeling 
that  presupposes  speech  ;  for  in  a  pure  demo- 
cracy equality  is  perfect,  and  so  speech  would 
always  be  free.  Since  the  reign  of  our  George 
I.,  of  bumptious  temper  and  doubtful — well,  I 
will  not  enumerate  all  his  public  and  private  vir- 
tues,— since  that  august  personage  took  his  place 
in  history  as  ruler  of  a  nation  made  up  of  sove- 
reign States  we  have  had  an  oligarchical  repub- 
lic of  confederate  States,  which  is  not  a  democ- 
racy. Pardon  !  Madam,  I  crave  your  patience  ; 
I  beg  leave  to  make  my  saying  plain  and  co- 
herent. We  have  a  Democratic  party  which  is 
falsely  named.  It  does  in  a  measure  represent 
several  dependencies  of  the  democratic  prin- 
ciple, but  the  principle  is  slowly  dying  beneath 
the  superimposed  fictions.  Because  of  the  weight 
it  carries  this   party  is  also  breaking  in  twain. 


270  TEE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

If  the  break  could  release  and  save  the  impris- 
oned principle  it  would  be  a  fortunate  issue. 
But  I  fear  the  division  will  only  loosen  the  evils 
that  are  inherent  in  its  organization." 

Grandison.  ^'Forgive  his  raving,  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke  ;  he  is  mad.  He  has  been  bitten  by  the 
French  Socialists.  He  blasphemes,  but  he  is 
not  responsible  for  the  blasphemy." 

Horry.  '^They  are  the  words  of  truth  and 
soberness.  I  am  not  mad,  most  noble  Festus.  It 
is  simply  this  world  of  ours,  which  is  given  to 
lying  and  to  hugging  its  delusions.  There  is 
that  within  me  unsaid  which  is  worse." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooike.  ''Then  say  it.  I  had  rather 
know  the  worst  than  to  be  threatened  with  un- 
told horrors." 

Horry.  "My  dear  Madam  Eve  !  You  ask  for 
the  apple,  and  you  shall  have  it.  I  warn  you  that 
it  is  sour  and  rotten  at  the  core.  It  is,  moreover, 
a  very  apple  of  discord.  When  it  is  gathered  the 
gates  of  paradise  will  close  and  a  flaming  sword 
will  bar  the  entrance." 

Mrs.  Carlshrooke.  "It  cannot  be  worse  than 
your  threats.     Go  on." 

Horry.  "  You  have  spoken,  and  I  live  but  to 
obey  your  sex.     If  you  rue  the  opening  of  this 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAB.  371 

Pandora's  box  of  politics — shake  not  your  curls 
at  me  ;  thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it.  I  speak  at 
your  order,  and  I  bespeak  your  attention. 

^ '  This  bad  blood  in  the  two  great  parties 
would  work  itself  out  in  boils  which  would  be 
sore  to  the  touch,  but  would  clear  the  politi- 
cal system  of  humors,  were  it  not  fcr  the  growing 
discord  of  States.  Unfortunately,  sectional  ani- 
mosity is  dividing  the  country  with  a  geograph- 
ical line  which  will  practically  separate  us  into 
two  distinct  communities  or  peoples.  They  are 
already  opposed  in  principles  and  interests,  alien- 
ated in  feeling,  and  jealous  of  supremacy  in 
the  federal  relation,  which  has  lost  its  protective 
and  friendly  significance.  The  disruption  of  the 
Whig  party,  which  is  an  accomplished  fact,  and 
the  disruption  of  the  Democratic  party,  which 
is  signalled  by  these  rival  delegations,  uncovers 
a  political  North  and  a  political  South  tired  of 
the  compact  that  united  them  in  a  common  fede- 
ral bond,  and  ready  to  divide  upon  the  line  re- 
cognized in  the  framework  of  the  Constitution." 

Grandison.  ' '  There  is  no  provision  in  the  Con- 
stitution for  division  of  the  Union." 

Horry.  ' '  I  beg  your  pardon,  most  learned  ex- 
pounder of  the  law.     But  there  v/as  such  a  pro- 


272  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

vision  made  not  only  by  the  convention  which 
formed  the  Constitution,  but  by  the  State  con- 
ventions which  ratified  it.  The  Constitution  was 
in  the  beginning  a  compromise  between  sections. 
It  is  now  an  obsolete  treaty  between  two  nations 
of  opposite  civilizations.  In  1814  the  Hartford 
Convention  did  not  regard  the  Constitution  as  a 
sacred  instrument ;  else  why  did  they  cry  out 
for  a  change  in  the  basis  of  representation? 
Neither  did  Massachusetts  regard  the  Constitu- 
tion as  the  ark  of  liberty.  Four  times  has  she 
threatened  secession  :  first,  with  reference  to 
the  adjustment  of  the  State  debts  ;  secondly, 
on  account  of  the  Louisiana  purchase  ;  thirdly, 
because  of  the  war  of  1812-14,  when,  as  Jeffer- 
son said,  'four  of  the  Eastern  States  are  only 
attached  to  the  Union  like  so  many  inanimate 
bodies  to  living  men ' ;  fourthly,  upon  the  an- 
nexation of  Texas,  when  her  Legislature  resolved 
in  advance  that  such  annexation  would  be  good 
cause  for  the  dissolution  of  the  Union." 

Orandlson.  "  But  you  will  admit,  Horry,  that 
the  question  of  secession  was  always  distasteful 
to  the  majority  in  those  States." 

Horry.  ''What  was  distasteful  is  not  the 
question.      We  are  looking  at   what  was   pro- 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  273 

posed,  to  prove  how  the  Constitution  was  under- 
stood. Thus  far  the  conservatism  of  the  coun- 
try, which  always  argues  against  change  and  for 
delay,  has  kept  the  compact  intact.  But  what 
will  conservatism  do  against  the  interest  of  the 
majority  ?  There  are  commercial  questions— un- 
derlying pocket-questions— in  the  minds  of  the 
agitators  which  will  make  them  take  the  most 
plausible  pretext  for  separation.  Possibly  the 
tariff,  which  is  certainly  unjust  to  the  South  and 
hurtful  to  the  West,  may  furnish  excuse.  Pos- 
sibly slavery,  which  just  now  seems  to  come  up- 
permost in  the  quarrel,  may  be  the  pretext.  Is 
it  true,  Roane,  that  the  split  in  the  Missouri 
delegation  is  on  the  slavery  question  ?" 

Tlie  ArJcansiam  ''I  fear  it  is  undeniably 
true." 

Horry.  "  So ;  it  was  the  roughs  of  the  Anti- 
Slavery  wing  that  tried  this  morning  to  light 
their  way  into  th«  Convention  at  the  edge  of 
the  bowie-knife  and  the  point  of  the  pistol.  I 
wonder  w^hat  '  JS'orthern  indignation '  will  say  to 
thatr' 

Dr.  C%rishrooke.  ''To  quote  the  Tribune, 
'  Northern  indignation  is  a  very  uncertain  force  : 
it  comes  in  gusts,  is  powerful  for  the  time,  but 


274  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

soon  subsides.  The  cares  of  the  world  and  the 
temj^tation  of  the  devil  consume  it  after  a 
little.'  " 

Horry.  ''And  now  the  devil  will  strongly 
tempt  them  to  approve  bowie-knives  and  re- 
volvers." 

Grandlson.  ' '  Roane,  is  the  Price  who  led  this 
onset  upon  the  convention  the  man  I  saw  talking 
with  Benton?  " 

Roane.  "  Yes,  the  same  '  splendidly  handsome 
fellow.'  Has  your  admiration  cooled  at  the  j)ic- 
ture  of  the  raider  and  his  following  wdth  their 
bowie-knives  and  revolvers  ? " 

Grandlson.  "  Not  at  all.  He  looks  every  inch 
a  soldier,  a  born  leader  of  men." 

Roane.  "I  should  think  the  Tribune  would 
be  charmed  with  this  last  exploit  of  Price.  It 
counsels  th«  opponents  of  slavery  to  '  get  posses- 
sion of  the  government';  says  the  'President 
should  be  a  man  of  iron  nerve';  and  insists  that 
'  fighting  men  are  wanted  as  national  representa- 
tives.' I  should  think  Price  would  suit  them  in 
either  capacity." 

Dr.  CarishrooJce.  "I  did  not  think  Price  an 
Abolitionist.  The  Virginia  Prices  did  not  even 
lean  toward  emancipation." 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  275 

Roane.  "Price  is  not  an  Abolitionist,  al- 
though he  is  a  Bentonite.  He  has  too  much 
common  sense.  He  is  too  well-principled  and 
honest  to  fly  headlong  in  the  face  of  facts  that 
confront  him  every  day.  A  Southerner  may  be 
an  emancipationist,  but  if  he  professes  aboli- 
tionism he  is  either  a  fool  or  a  knave.  It  is  easy 
to  preach  philanthropy,  but  under  the  stress  of 
adverse  circumstance  it  is  rather  difficult  to  prac- 
tise what  one  may  have  preached.  IS^ow,  I  do 
not  hesitate  to  say  that  I  think  slavery  the  curse 
of  the  South.  But  I  am  not  ready  to  lose  my 
all,  or  to  ruin  the  fortunes  of  my  friends  and 
kill  the  present  prosperity  of  my  section,  by  a 
sudden  and  quixotic  effort  to  elevate  the  African 
at  the  expense  of  the  Caucasian.  New  England 
did  no  such  thing.  She  stands  now  and  mocks 
us  with  her  virtues ;  but  they  put  money  in  her 
pocket.  Slavery  was  unprofitable  in  the  North, 
and  when  they  decided  for  emancix)ation  it  was 
so  gradual  that  when  the  time  came  for  freedom 
there  were  comparatively  few  slaves  to  profit 
by  the  act.  They  had  either  died  with  most 
frightful  rapidity,  or  they  had  been  sold  in  the 
markets  of  Baltimore  and  Richmond.  You  can 
judge  which  is  the  more  probable.     It  is  a  sig- 


276  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

nificant  fact  that  during  the  period  of  delay — of 
ai3prenticeshii)  for  freedom — there  was  a  plethora 
of  able-bodied  young  negroes  in  the  border 
States'  markets.  But  I  am  not  often  tempted 
into  even  a  remote  discussion  of  a  question 
where  my  interest  and  my  sentiment — to  put  it 
mildly — pull  in  opposite  directions."" 

Mrs.  CarishrooTce.  "Is  Benton  an  emancipa- 
tionist?" 

Roane.  "No,  madam;  he  is  simply  a  dema- 
gogue. He  is  coquetting  with  the  Free  Soil 
party.  When  the  alliance  is  ratified  it  will  be 
for  a  consideration.  There  will  be  ante-nuptial 
settlements." 

Horry.  "Which  will  assuredly  be  to  Benton's 
advantage.  When  the  crash  comes  any  South- 
ern renegade  who  affiliates  with  the  North  will 
put  money  in  his  purse." 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  "You  will  persist  in  pro- 
phecy.    Do  you  see  the  crash  so  near  V 

Horry.  "Yes,  madam;  the  Ides  of  March  will 
see  the  incoming  of  the  President  we  nominate  in 
Cincinnati  this  week.  But  after  that  inaugura- 
tion— the  deluge." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  the  mock-heroic 
strain  in  which  this  was  declaimed ;    then  the 


IN  THE  GA  TFWA  Y  OF  WAE.  271 

talk  broke  into  fragmentary  dialogues — into  tliose 
airy  nothings,  tliose  brilliant  coruscations  of  com- 
plimentary small-talk,  tliat  men  of  sense  offer 
women  of  brains  as  current  society  coin. 

The  guests  were  seated  in  that  sensible  French 
fashion  which  completes  the  magnetic  chain  and 
puts  every  one  at  ease.  At  Mrs.  Carisbrooke' s 
right  was  her  friend  and  ally,  the  cynically  pro- 
phetic Horry ;  at  her  left  the  Arkansian,  who  had 
laid  aside  his  dialect  with  his  bowie-knife  when 
he  quitted  the  hot,  dusty  town,  where  the  conven- 
tion was  cooling  itself  with  ''cobblers."  Oppo- 
site these  two,  in  the  places  of  honor  beside  the 
doctor,  were  Mrs.  Cartaret  and  Mrs.  Hartley ; 
next  to  the  last  Leszinksky  ;  at  Mrs.  Cartaret' s 
right  was  Grandison.  These  four  of  the  guests 
who  were  staying  in  the  house  comjpleted  the 
circle  to  the  Arkansian.  From  Leszinksky  to 
Horry  the  chain  was  broken  by  two  empty 
chairs.  But  as  the  fruit  was  served  Molly  came 
in  and  took  the  seat  next  Leszinksky  at  the  end 
of  the  table. 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "O  Molly  !  Molly  !  to  think 
that  you  should  be  the  usher  of  ill-fortune. 
Why,  child,  you  are  the  fatal  thirteenth  at 
table!" 


278  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

Doctor  Carishroolce.  ' '  Do  not  let  exclamation- 
points  frigliten  yon,  my  Molly.  Though  you 
brought  all  the  Furies  in  your  train,  yet  are  you 
welcome.  Stay  where  you  are  and  smile  down 
your  mother's  superstition." 

Molly.  "  Thanks,  pajm ;  but  I  dare  not  vex  the 
mater P  And  she  pushed  back  her  chair  and  went 
and  stood  by  her  mother.  Whereupon  Horry 
turned  side  wise  and  held  up  a  plate  heaped  with 
lucent  grapes  to  tempt  her. 

Horry.  ' '  An  angel  comes  to  visit  us  and  she 
is  banished!  Most  cruel  of  mothers,  may  she 
not  be  fed?" 

Mrs.  CarishrooTce.  ^^Yes,  when  time,  place, 
and  numbers  are  propitious.  If  you  are  willing 
to  sacrifice  yourself  for  the  general  good  you  can 
go  with  Molly  to  her  reception-room  under  the 
leaves." 

Horry.  ^'  With  the  grapes  ? " 

Mrs.  Carishroolce.  "With  all  the  fruit  you 
care  to  take  or  that  Molly  cares  to  eat.  Having 
forced  that  horrid  sour  apple  upon  me  in  the 
beginning  of  luncheon,  you  have  grown  amiable. 
Your  chronic  anger  modified,  you  are  ready  to 
feed  Molly  with  sweets." 

Horry.   "  I  wonder  you  did  not  say  that  I  am 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  279 

mollified ;  you  are  quite  capable  of  such  an  atro- 
city. Madam,  I  leave  you  to  your  regrets ;  I 
am  going  to  paradise  with  the  angel  you  refused 
to  entertain." 

The  banished  pair  left  the  dining-room,  and 
the  rippling  sound  of  sweet  girl-laughter  coming 
from  the  piazza  proved  the  companionableness  of 
the  kindly  cynic.  The  doctor,  slightly  chafed  at 
the  child's  dismissal,  proposed  an  adjournment 
''to  the  paradise  without,"  and  thither  they  all 
went  with  plates  and  baskets  of  fruit. 

A  neighbor  was  sitting  on  the  steps  with  Horry 
and  Molly  ;  so,  without  fear  of  the  fatal  number, 
the  feast  ended. 

Leszinksky,  introduced  by  the  doctor  as  her 
attendant  at  table,  had  taken  Mrs.  Hartley  in  to 
luncheon ;  there  they  Lad  been  interested  and 
attentive  listeners  rather  than  participants  in  the 
discursive  conversation,  rarely  speaking  to  each 
other,  except  in  the  monosyllabic  talk  of  table 
courtesy. 

Leszinksky' s  chief  interest  in  his  beautiful 
neighbor  was  through  her  relationship  to  the 
wife,  ever  beloved,  of  his  youth.  He  watched 
for  some  family  trait,  some  likeness  to  the  avo- 
man  who  had  made  the  only  happiness  of  his 


280  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

life.  But  as  yet  he  had  seen  nothing  of  Marga- 
ret in  the  cold,  proud,  beautiful  face  of  lier  cou- 
sin. Out  on  the  steps,  at  the  end  of  the  piazza, 
where  they  were  seated  somewhat  apart  from  the 
gay  party,  he  tried  to  interest  her,  to  change  the 
expression  of  the  "icily-regular,  dead  perfec- 
tion" of  her  face  by  talk  of  her  childhood  and 
her  home ;  he  wished  to  elicit  a  likeness  which 
he  knew  would  be  painfully  sweet  to  him. 
The  result  was  such  a  disappointment  that  the 
change  in  his  own  face  could  have  been  read  by 
the  veriest  tyro  that  ever  tried  to  decipher  a  hu- 
man countenance.  A  half-restrained  sigh  gave 
the  change  double  meaning.  For  the  first  time 
the  lovely  face  softened  into  sympathetic  ex- 
pression. As  he  caught  the  coming  light  in  the 
large,  dark  eyes,  these  words  were  the  first  volun- 
tary utterance  of  the  rich,  low  voice  : 

"  I  am  not  at  all  like  my  cousin  Margaret.  I 
remember  her  perfectly.  She  had  the  SAveetest 
face  I  ever  saw." 

"  Ah  !  I  see  a  likeness  now." 

There  was  no  intention  of  comi^liment.  She 
knew  there  Avas  not.  Yet  of  all  the  fine  things 
ever  said  to  her  of  her  beauty  nothing  had  ever 
so  touched  her.     For  the  first  time  in  all  the  long 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  281 

years  since  the  hardening  process  had  begun,  her 
heart  went  out  in  sympathy  to  the  sentiment  of 
love.  She  made  no  revolt  to  the  unaccustomed 
feeling;  but,  growing  more  and  more  tender,  the 
lovely  eyes  looked  at  him  through  tears  that 
gathered  slowly  and  fell  unnoticed  by  her  as  she 
bent  from  the  step  above  him  waiting-for  no- 
thing that  she  could  have  put  into  words.  In 
truth,  the  feeling  could  not  have  shaped  itself 
into  thought.  It  was  simply  a  heaven-sent  con- 
tradiction of  everything  in  her  life,  or  rather  a 
divine  touch  that  awakened  her  from  spiritual 
death.  There  was  no  actnal  thought,  but  there 
was  a  blissful  consciousness  that  love  was  not  all 
a  lie.  Then,  as  consciousness  grew  fuller  and 
more  perfect,  she  knew,  not  through  the  intelli- 
gence but  through  feeling,  that  love,  being  love, 
is  truth. 

The  man  there  before  her,  her  cousin's  hus- 
band, had  loved  her  cousin  truly.  She  remem- 
bered the  sacrifices  their  love  had  cost.  She  also 
remembered  and  understood  her  father's  expres- 
sion of  regret  for  his  harshness  to  "the  gen- 
tleman who  had  married  his  ward."  He  had 
said  it  to  her  the  morning  before  they  heard  of 
Tom's  death,    the  morning  before  her  father's 


282  THE  3I0DERN  EAGAR. 

deatli :  liis  death— and  hers  !  Yes,  she  had  died 
then ;  at  least  her  soul  must  have  shut  itself 
in  some  inner  chamber  with  her  sorrow.  Since 
then  she  had  existed  physically  and  mentally, 
but  she  had  always  known  that  the  motive - 
spring  of  life  was  gone. 

Love' s  first  miracle  was  to  take  up  her  thought 
just  where  it  had  stopped  that  snowy  morning  at 
Oakhill,  when  the  sense  of  her  loss  so  magni- 
fied the  sense  of  self  that,  in  her  pain  and  ^vretch- 
edness,  and  anger  with  her  husband,  all  feeling 
crystallized  into  hate.  Again  the  phrase  struck 
her:  "The  gentleman  who  married  my  ward." 
Her  father  had  been  speaking  of  the  Leszink- 
skys  and  of  her  husband  when  he  said  it.  It 
had  come  through  talk  of  that  looman.  Thought 
was  growing  definite  now,  and  she  wondered  how 
she  could  have  been  so  pitiless  to  Lucy — how 
she  could  have  cared.  Alas !  alas !  that  Eros 
and  Anteros  should  both  exist,  that  the  false 
should  ever  come  before  the  true.  She  knew 
already  that  she  had  never  loved  her  husband. 
Now  she  became  conscious  of  love's  worth,  and 
her  face  crimsoned  as  she  bent  over  the  grape- 
leaves  that  she  broke  from  the  vine,  and  with 
which  she  tried  vainly  to  hide  her  tears. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  283 

*'Tlie  gentleman  who  married—"  The  words 
rang  in  a  refrain  through  her  ears.  ''Well,  he 
is  a  gentleman."  In  her  thought  she  said  that 
now.  And  then  thought  went  on  to  compare 
Leszinksky  with  that  other  man  who,  her  father 
had  said,  ''was  not  a  gentleman."  The  proof  of 
the  fitness  of  the  word  gentleman  came  to  her,  if 
proof  had  been  needed,  when  Leszinksky  ran  up 
the  steps  and  returned  with  an  umbrella,  which 
he  Opened  and  gave  her  to  shield  her  from  the 
sun  and  from  sight.  He  waited  silently  beside 
her;  then,  as  footsteps  sounded  on  the  piazza 
above,  he  said : 

"A  walk  will  do  you  good.  The  lane  is  cool 
and  shady.     Will  you  come  1 ' ' 

Together  they  walked  down  the  path,  through 
the  gate,  and  on  under  the  sheltering  shade  of 
the  trees. 

The  height  of  his  companion,  the  fall  of  her 
shapely  shoulders,  the  rounded  outline  of  the 
drooping,  oval  face  indistinctly  seen  under  the 
shade  of  the  umbrella  she  carried,  a  certain 
dainty,  assured  grace  in  her  stately  carriage— all 
reminded  Leszinksky  of  Margaret.  They  had 
turned  from  the  lane,  through  which  occasional 
carriages  were  passing,  into  a  winding  country 


284  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

road,  and  then  into  a  silent  and  lonely  path 
along  the  line  of  hills  which,  in  the  rare  open- 
ings, gave  a  distant  view  of  the  Ohio  with  its 
glassy  surface  yellowed  in  the  sunligh  t.  Think- 
ing of  Margaret,  Leszinksky  had  walked  on  un- 
conscious of  time  and  distance,  hearing  no  sound 
in  the  quiet  of  the  hot  summer  afternoon  save 
the  fluttering  of  birds  in  the  low  boughs  that 
bent  over  them  and  the  musical  rhythm  of  the 
steps  that  keiot  time  together. 

Both  were  quieted  and  soothed  into  forgetful- 
ness  of  the  grief  and  pain  that  waited  their 
awakening  from  this  dream  of  green  leaves  and 
musical  paces  by  the  magical  influence  that 
dwells  in  summer  woods,  which  lives  in  the  ful- 
ness of  life  that  pervades  glade  and  dingle,  in  the 
fluttering  of  insect- wings  about  the  fairy  moss- 
stems,  in  the  joy  of  each  tiny  wild  thing,  in  the 
quivering  delight  of  every  upcurling  tendril,  of 
every  blade  of  grass  and  bloom  of  wild-flower 
that  stretched  its  opening  leaves  sunward. 

A  distant  shot  which  echoed  through  the 
wood,  and  the  cry  of  a  wounded  bird  as  it  fell 
in  the  path,  broke  the  charm. 

With  one  impulse  both  stooi)ed.  Leszinksky, 
yielding  the  right  of  succor  to  his  companion. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  285 

folded  ttie  umbrella  she  had  dropped  and  waited 
her  pleasure. 

Kate  (as  she  softens  into  womanliness  I  forget 
Mrs.  Hartley  and  remember  the  Kate  I  found  at 
Oakhill)  held  the  bird  in  her  ungloved  hand. 
Crimson  drops  had  fallen  upon  her  white  dress, 
and  there  was  a  crimson  stain  upon  the  hand  she 
held  out  to  Leszinksky. 

*'  See  how  it  bleeds,  poor  little  thing  !  Will  it 
dier' 

"  It  is  dying  now\" 

And  he  took  it  from  her  unresistant  hand  and 
laid  it  above  the  path  upon  a  mossy  bank  which 
partly  covered  the  twisted  roots  of  a  giant  oak. 
She  sat  down  on  the  bank  and  watched  the  bird  ; 
and  as  the  robin,  with  a  fluttering  spasm  of  pain, 
turned  its  breast  to  the  sky  and  was  still,  her 
tearful  mood  came  back.  Only  now  with  the 
showery  tears  there  were  quick,  broken  sigbs, 
like  the  sobbing  of  a  grieved  child. 

They  were  near  the  crossing  of  a  little  stream 
w^hich  issued  from  some  spring  hidden  in  the 
hills.  Leszinksky  wetted  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  the  stains  from  her  hands,  she  looking 
pitifully  the  while  from  them  to  the  dead  robin. 
Then  he  brought  her  some  water  in  a  leafy  cup. 


286  THE  MODERN  II AGAR. 

saying :  ^ '  If  you  will  bathe  your  face  you  will 
be  better." 

Meekly  she  held  out  her  hands  and  obeyed 
him,  drying  her  face  with  her  handkerchief. 
Then,  standing  up,  she  said  softly — there  was 
yet  a  sound  of  tears  in  her  voice : 

"Would  you  mind  burying  the  poor  little 
thing  ?    I  do  not  wish  to  leave  it  here  like  this." 

"It  is  just  w^hat  I  intended  to  do  with  these 
leaves." 

And  gently  taking  up  the  moss,  he  made  a 
narrow  bed  in  the  curve  of  a  gnarled  root,  and, 
wrapping  the  bird  in  the  wet  leaves,  he  tilled  in 
the  space  and  replaced  the  moss. 

She,  standing  w^atching  and  Avondering,  divid- 
ing her  pity  between  the  bird  and  the  one-armed 
gentleman,  whose  careful,  tender  movement  of 
leaf  and  bird  amazed  her.  Years  ago  she  re- 
membered something  like  this  when  she  and 
Tom  had  buried  a  mocking-bird  which  Tom  had 
caught  and  tamed  for  her.  But  Tom's  tender- 
ness had  been  for  her,  not  for  the  bird ;  his  care 
for  that  was  a  concession  to  her. 

But  this  gentleman— in  her  thought  she  con- 
stantly so  called  him — put  love  into  the  task  he 
had  given  himself. 


IN  TEE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  287 

She  did  not  forget  what  he  had  said  he  in- 
tended to  do  with  the  leaves.  That  he  had  not 
gathered  them  for  her  use  alone  did  not  alto- 
gether please  her.  But  that  he  had  told  her 
frankly  of  hia  purpose  did  iDlease  her.  She  had 
been  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  lies  and  hate. 
That  she  esteemed  tenderness  and  truth,  and 
the  speaker  of  truth,  proved  that  there  was  yet 
in  her  a  healthful  moral  nature  which  would 
recover  from  the  malarial  taint,  if  the  conditions 
were  changed. 

As  Leszinksky  finished  his  task  Kate  again 
sat  down  upon  the  bank.  He  asked,  ' '  Are  you 
tired?" 

"  Yes.  But  it  is  not  for  that  I  am  resting  here. 
It  is  that  I  wish  to  tell  you  something,  to  ask 
you  something." 

She  had  decided,  with  the  quick  impulse  of 
woman,  to  give  him  confidence  and  ask  advice. 
But  the  manner  of  her  preface  was  a  step  out  of 
the  false  toward  the  true.  She  had  put  aside 
the  courteous  deceits  of  the  world  bravely,  al- 
though somewhat  rudely,  which  in  a  well-bred 
woman  proved  what  the  effort  cost.  Holding 
her  courage  in  both  hands,  she  plunged  into 
question : 


288  THE  3I0DERN  HAGAR. 

''  Did  yoM  not  sell  Mr.  Hartley  a  woman  called 
Lucy  and  her  cliild  ? " 

A  man  of  the  world  wonld  have  been  astound- 
ed at  the  question.  A  roue  would  have  quickly 
begun  to  reckon  the  chances  it  might  give.  The 
Christian  gentleman,  with  quick  sympathy  yet 
truest  speech,  answered  simply : 

''She  was  Margaret's  maid.  Margaret  sold 
her  to  Captain  Hartley  because  of  her  child." 

"  If  the  woman  had  suffered  a  great  wTong, 
a  great  injustice,  would  you  not  right  it,  would 
you  not  iDrotect  her?" 

''  Certainly.     It  would  be  my  duty." 

''AVell,  then,  it  is  your  dutj^  and  it  is  also 
mine,  for  it  was  because  of  me  that  this  wrong 
was  done.  I  knew  of  the  injustice  and  was 
silent.  But  I  did  not  know  until  to-day  that 
there  was  a  crime  back  of  the  injustice.  This 
morning  the  woman  Lucy  was  in  my  room  with 
my  maid.  I  was  in  Julia's  room,  which  adjoins 
mine.  Julia  had  gone  down  to  see  some  visitors. 
The  door  was  open  between  the  rooms.  I  heard 
a  woman  shriek,  and  I  found  Lucy  in  a  strange 
hysterical  fit.  Rose  was  frightened,  and  she  told 
me  she  had  just  given  the  woman  her  free  papers 
—papers  that  Rose  had  found  at  Oakhill  in  a  lit- 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR,  289 

tie  satchel  six  years  ago.  Do  you  understand 
the  crime  ?  Do  you  understand  that  Mr.  Hartley 
sold  the  woman  after  she  lost  the  free  papers  he 
had  given  her?" 

*'Yes,  I  understand.  But  will  you  believe 
what  I  may  tell  you?" 

^'I  know  you  are  a  gentleman.  I  will  be- 
lieve anything  you  say.  I  am  sure  a  falsehood 
never  soiled  your  lips.  I  could  not  say  that 
for  myself."  And  there  was  a  mournful  tone 
in  those  last  words  of  that  sweet,  low  voice 
that  made  quick  way  to  the  heart  of  the  lis- 
tener. 

"On  my  honor  I  believe  there  is  excuse  for 
your  husband  I  do  not  mean  in  the  act— that 
was  wrong.  But  we  should  forgive  him  for  the 
motive.     It  was  strong  and  it  was  human." 

"  You  mean  for  my  sake  he  did  it.  You  are 
mistaken  in  that.  He  did  not  sell  her  for  my 
sake.  He  simply  wished  to  be  rid  of  her. 
Please  do  not  speak  of  him  as  my  husband. 
There  is  no  longer  any  real  marriage  tie  between 
us.  There  is  only  a  lying  appearance.  My  father 
was  going  to  take  me  from  him  ;  but  my  father 
died,  and  Tom  was  dead.  I  had  no  one  I  cared 
for  but  Julia,  and  Julia  held  me  by  a  promise  I 


•>00  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

had  made  before  my  baby  died."  And  the  voice 
broke. 

' '  You  have  lost  a  child  ;  you  know  what  it  is 
to  love  a  child  ?  Then  you  can  learn  to  excuse 
Captain  Hartley.  He  sold  Lucy  because  she 
would  not  give  up  her  right  to  his  child." 

''Yes,  I  knew  it  was  his  child.  I  knew  it 
when  I  insisted,  as  one  condition  of  my  return  to 
Oakhill,  that  Lucy  and  the  child  should  be  sent 
away." 

"  You  were  right  in  that.  You  need  not  blame 
yourself  for  that." 

"  But  I  knew  he  separated  that  mother  from 
her  child.  I  knew  he  had  bought  her,  and  I 
knew  he  had  sold  her.  I  was  glad  she  was 
punished."     She  hid  her  fiice  in  her  hands. 

Leszinksky  was  silent.  With  all  pity  for  her 
he  could  not  excuse  her  to  herself.  At  last, 
when  the  sweet  face  was  suddenly  lifted  to  him, 
pale  with  shame  and  suffering,  he  prevented  her 
speech  by  saying : 

''But  now  you  are  sorry.  And  to-day,  when 
you  found  what  great  injustice  Lucy  had  suf- 
fered, you  forgave  her  for  pity's  sake.  To  put 
yourself  right  with  God  and  your  conscience 
you  resolved  to  defend  her.     It  was  not  needed  ; 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  291 

for  I  knew  tlie  wrong,  and  Captain  Hartley  liad 
promised  me  to  right  it.  To-morrow  he  was  to 
replace  the  lost  papers.  Knowing  his  motive, 
and  that  he  was  abont  to  repair  the  wrong,  can 
you  not  forgive  him?" 

She  stood  up  before  him.  She  was  deathly 
pale,  but  the  scornful  lines  were  deepening  at 
the  corners  of  the  beautiful  lips,  and  there  was 
a  set,  hard  look  of  resolve  that  seemed  pain- 
fully unnatural  in  the  lovely  face. 

"You  do  not  know  what  you  ask.  You  can- 
not judge  for  me,  because  you  do  not  know  what 
I  have  endured.  Not  for  love's  sake!  Ah!  if 
there  had  been  love  I  could  have  forgiven  even 
that  Mow.'''' 

The  gentleman  standing  there  listening  to  her 
trembled  like  some  one  in  an  ague-fit.  He  was 
pale  to  the  very  lips.  After  a  moment's  pause 
he  said  : 

"  You  are  the  nearest  living  relative  of  my 
daughter ;  you  are  Rue' s  heiress  ;  and  so,  as 
your  father  and  your  brother  are  dead,  you  are 
my  ward.  I  am  as  ready  to  defend  3^ou,  to  right 
your  wrong,  as  I  would  be  to  defend  my  daugh- 
ter. I  do  not  believe  that  the  marriage  tie  may 
be  broken  though  one  suffer  a  wrong.     But  sepa- 


292  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

ration  from  an  evil-doer  is  righteous  and  just.  If 
you  will  accept  my  protection  I  offer  you  a  cliild's 
place  in  my  household  and  in  my  regard." 

All  her  pride  was  gone.  He  was  looking  upon 
the  sweetest,  the  tenderest,  the  most  loving  face 
that  ever  met  the  eyes  of  man.  Her  swaying 
form  seemed  to  bend  before  him,  that  she  might 
look  upward  as  one  would  look  at  a  messenger 
of  the  gods. 

"I  have  been  separated  from  Mr.  Hartley  ever 
since  my  father's  death.  I  live  with  Julia,  and 
so  the  concealment  of  our  separation  is  possible. 
For  some  reason  he  seems  to  value  my  life  and 
this  appearance  of  marriage.  But  it  is  not  be- 
cause of  him  or  of  Julia  that  I  refuse  your  i>ro- 
tection.  There  is  no  outward,  no  personal,  dan- 
ger in  my  life  now  that  demands  change.  I  can 
and  do  rule  the  manner  of  it  as  I  choose.  Yet 
none  the  less  do  I  thank  you.  The  memory  of 
this  offer,  the  consciousness  that  I  could,  if  need 
were,  find  a  place  in  your  home,  in  your  life, 
will  be  both  sweet  and  strengthening  in  the  new 
life  which  begins  for  me  from  to-day.  To  you  I 
owe  this  change  which  is  from  within.  But,  with 
you,  in  unlearning  hate  I  might  learn  another, 
a  more  dangerous,  lesson. 


IN  THE  GATEWAY  OF  WAR.  293 

''The  truth  should  not  offend.  This  truth 
that  I  show  you  is  the  highest  and  the  purest 
which  has  ever  come  into  my  life.  To  be  cared 
for  by  you,  to  depend  on  your  i3rotection,  to 
have  the  humblest  place  in  your  regard,  is  so 
sweet,  even  in  thought,  that  I  dare  not  accept  it. 
Will  you  pardon  me  if  I  have  said  too  much  ? 
But  I  could  not  keep  back  this  new  feeling  wliich 
has  come  into  my  life." 

The  lovely  head  bent  in  reverent  lowliness, 
and  before  he  could  i)revent  her  she  had  taken 
his  solitary  hand  in  her  soft  palms  and  covered 
it  with  kisses.  Then  as  suddenly  she  turned, 
and,  walking  rapidly,  led  the  way  out  of  the 
wood.  In  the  road  he  offered  his  arm,  which 
she  accepted  ;  but  the  silence  was  unbroken  ex- 
cept by  the  fluttering  birds  and  the  regular 
rhythm  of  steps  in  the  leafy  lane. 


BOOK    SECOjSTD, 


r^ART    si:co:ne>. 


a 


KING  STAN." 


'  *  Selfless  man 
And  stainless  gentleman^ 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

?s  and  encounteiyngs  that  I 
here  before  in  all  this  hystory,  gi-eat  or  smalle,  this  battayle  that  1  treat  of 
nowe  was  one  of  the  sorest  and  best  foughten." 

(Scene. — The  hreakfast-room  of  a  handsome 
residence  in  Washington.  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 
and  Mrs.  Hartley,  meeting  in  the  hall^  enter 
together.) 

"  T  TRUST    you    are    somewhat    rested,    Mrs. 

I  Carisbrooke.  Julia  and  I  waited  uj)  un- 
til one  o'clock.  Then  we  had  a  message 
from  Mr.  Hartley  saying  the  train  was  delayed, 
but  that  he  would  wait  at  the  station." 

"Yes;   he  was  in  the  car  before  I  knew  the 

294 


'^KING  STANr  295 

train  had  stopped.  Molly  was  so  sleepy  and  I 
so  tired  that  it  was  a  great  relief  to  hand  over 
checks  and  parcels  to  a  courteous  and  able- 
bodied  protector.  I  have  rarely  travelled  with- 
out Carisbrooke.  When  I  do  I  always  have  rea- 
son to  recant  every  declaration  of  feminine  inde- 
pendence I  have  ever  uttered.  I  don' t  mind  con- 
fessing to  you,  Kate,  that  a  masterful  man  is 
not  a  person  to  be  desjnsed  in  a  railroad  smash." 

' '  Did  you  have  an  accident  I  Mr.  Hartley 
only  said  a  delay." 

"  An  accident !  We  barely  missed  running  at 
full  speed  into  a  Tv^ecked  freight-train.  We  es- 
caped a  collision,  but  we  were  detained  three 
hours.  What  a  fright  Carisbrooke  will  have 
when  he  hears  how  his  household  goddesses  were 
risked !  Captain  Hartley  telegraphed  Caris- 
brooke of  our  safe  arrival.  He  will  probably 
get  the  desimtch  before  he  sees  the  morning 
papers.  They  are  very  iDrompt  in  the  delivery 
of  missives  at  the  New  York  Hotel." 

"  Will  Molly  breakfast  with  us  1 " 

''No.  I  promised  Molly  last  night  to  make 
her  excuses.  She  is  still  sleeping.  She  was  out 
until  three  o'clock  the  night  before  we  left  West 
Point,  which,  with  the  earl}^  start  to  New  York 


29G  T'HE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

and  the  busy  day  there,  axed  her  strength  to 
nearly  its  last  ix)int  of  endurance.  She  sat  with 
ai^parently  calm  nerves  and  a  most  provokingly 
placid  expression  through  the  first  of  the  three 
hours  at  the  wreck,  and  then — she  slept.  Ima- 
gine my  temper !  Fortunately  she  was  con- 
sciously awake  when  we  got  here ;  so  I  had  op- 
portunity to  expend  my  indignation  uiwn  her 
and  my  commiseration  upon  my  spine  before  she 
said  'Good-niglit,'  which  was  all  she  said  to 
either  indignation  or  commiseration." 

During  Mrs.  Carisbrooke' s  monologue  Kate 
had  poured  the  coffee  and  dismissed  the  atten- 
tive "  Yellowplush  "  to  his  place  in  the  council 
of  the  Velimgerlcht  below  stairs. 

The  two  ladies  lingered  at  table.  As  their  talk 
will  tell  something  of  the  four  years  that  have 
passed  since  we  left  the  chief  personatges  of  this 
drama  in  Cincinnati,  I  shall  use  it  to  bridge  the 
gap  in  their  history. 

Kate.  "And  I  have  to  make  Julia's  excuses. 
Slie  had  an  engagement  to  meet  a  New  York 
yachting  jmrty  this  morning  in  Alexandria.  As 
they  came  there  for  her,  she  could  not  well  disap- 
point them.  She  is  going  with  them  to  Mount 
A^ernon,  but  hopes  to  be  back  to  morrow.     It  is 


''KING  STAN/*  297 

a  beautiful  morning.  Would  you  like  to  drive 
to  the  Capitol  at  twelve?  The  Baltimore  Con- 
vention has  depleted  the  galleries  and  they  will 
not  be  uncomfortably  crowded.  Or  shall  we 
wait  until  after  luncheon  I  Possibly  Molly 
would  like  to  go.'' 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "My  si^ine  is  my  majority, 
and  it  says  '  Wait.^  And  I  have  chapters  to  tell 
you  and— unaccountable  fact — questions  to  ask." 

Kate.  "I  shall  be  delighted  to  listen  to  your 
chapters. ' ' 

Mrs.  Carishroolte.  "  And  you  will  parry  the 
questions?  Well,  I  am  amiable  this  morning, 
and  will  generously  give  unto  you  knowledge. 
It  was  rather  queer,  Kate,  that  the  two  letters  of 
m.ine  which  never  reached  you  were  ]Deculiarly 
news-letters.  No  reply  coming  to  either,  I  wrote 
Robert  Carisbrooke  to  question  you  and  cross- 
question  your  post  officials — which  he  did  ef- 
fectually. I  believe  no  letters  are  missing  since 
then?" 

Kate.  "None.  Possibly  the  numbering  system 
you  adopted  charmed  the  post  into  regularity. 
But  I  have  had  very  little  news  in  the  later  let- 
ters. AVliy  did  you  not  repeat  the  lost  chap- 
ters?" 


298  THE  MODERN  HA6AR. 

Mrs.  Carlshrooke.  "  It  might  again  have  been 
love's  labor  lost.  They  were  full,  voluminous 
despatches.  I  could  not  duplicate  the  work. 
So,  as  I  knew  the  news  would  keep,  I  waited  to 
tell  it  you." 

Kate.   "And  now,  first  ?" 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  ''Well,  first  the  news  that 
is  of  deepest  interest  and  gravest  import  to  the 
Carisbrookes.  In  one  of  the  lost  letters  I  hint- 
ed, in  a  sort  of  prophetic  rage,  that  our  very  dear 
and  generous  friend  Major  Carson  was  evincing  a 
certain  willingness  to  be  consoled  for  what  I  had 
stupidly  believed  was  his  never-to-be-forgotten 
matrimonial  loss." 

Kate.   ' '  You  mean  Molly  % ' ' 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.   "  How  did  you  hear  it  1 " 

Kate.  "I  have  heard  nothing,  except,  of 
course,  that  his  son  was  in  Cincinnati.  You 
hinted  just  now  his  readiness  to  be  consoled, 
and  knowing  that  he  was  often  with  you,  and 
thinking  of  the  infallible  recipe,  'propinquity 
and  opportunity,'  I  knew  it  must  be  Molly." 

Mrs.  Carlshrooke.  "Natural  enough,  I  admit, 
for  him  to  think  of  Molly.  But  for  Molly  to  ac- 
cept an  old,  battered,  red-headed,  army  fossil, 
whose  sole  fortune  is  his   pay   and    his    half- 


^'KING  STAJSr:'  299 

breed  heir-apparent,  is  preposterous.  And  Ca- 
risbrooke !  Do  you  not  think  Carisbrooke  has 
taken  leave  of  that  small  modicum  of  sense  and 
judgment  he  certainly  did  display  when  he  mar- 
ried me,  to  aid  and  abet  his  only  child  in  this 
ruinous  folly? " 

Kate,  ''You  do  not  believe  it  folly,  nor  do 
you  believe  it  ruinous  to  give  odds  for  love's 
sake." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "Oh!  ho!  A  b-e-a-u-ti  f  ul 
sentiment ! — very  lovely  in  the  mouth  of  an 
heiress  who  married  a  New  York  Croesus.  In 
an  elegant  home  with  superb  appointments, 
talking  across  a  service  of  solid  silver  in  a 
breakfast-room  where  Landseer's  hounds  look 
longingly  across  twenty  velveted  feet  of  distance 
at  Beard's  squirrels,  such  a  sentiment  does  you 
credit,  my  dear." 

Kate.  ' '  Better  a  crust  of  bread  where  love  is 
than  the  splendor  of  a  king  where  love  is  not." 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  ' '  The  x)lay  brightens  !  Sen- 
timent grows  epigrammatically  sententious  !  I 
am  lost  in  admiration.  But,  an  thou  lovest  me, 
Kate,  pose  your  splendor  and  not  your  sentiment 
at  Molly.  Give  me  your  epigrams,  but  give  her 
advice  coined  by  judgment." 


300  THE  MODERN  HAGAR, 

Kate.  "I  could  say  nothing  to  her,  except  to 
warn  her  to  be  sure  that  her  love  is  strong 
enough  to  bear  sorrow,  and  true  enough  to  over- 
come the  v^^orld  and  the  flesh — " 

3Irs.  Carisbrooke.  " — And  the  devil.  A  very 
pretty  finish  you  make  of  it — calling  me  names, 
Kate !  I  vow — I  would  like  to  swear,  but,  being 
a  coAvard  and  a  poor,  broken-sx^irited,  helpless 
little  woman,  I  won't— I  do  vow  you  are  worse 
than  Carisbrooke.  That  he,  being  a  man,  should 
find  Major  Carson  furnished  with  attractions  to 
win  a  girl  and  heroic  virtues  to  rivet  her  re- 
gard is  not  utterly  absurd.  But  that  you,  Kate 
— you — should  see  the  graces  of  a  gallant  or 
the  qualities  of  a  lover  in  that  rugged  army 
fiend  is  incomprehensible.*' 

Kate.  "Am  I  so  destitute  of  discernment  or  of 
heart  that  I  would  rate  lightly  a  brave  and  loyal 
gentleman  \ ' ' 

Mrs.  CarlsbrooTie.  "  You  were  the  daughter  of 
the  proudest  aristocrat  in  Virginia,  and  this  man 
is  a  nobody,  a  man  of  the  people,  a  '  mud-sill.' 
'  I  thank  thee  (senator)  for  teaching  me  that 
word.'  You  cannot  think  him  a  fit  match  for 
a  gentlewoman.  You  are  the  wife  of  an  ac- 
complished man  of  the  world.     That  your  hus- 


''KING  STAN:'  301 

band  is  immensely  rich  is  the  least  of  his  ad- 
vantages. He  has  influence,  position.  He  is  a 
leader  in  his  State,  and  the  trusted  representa- 
tive of  its  interests  in  the  councils  of  the  na- 
tion. When  you  preach  from  the  text,  'All 
for  love,  or  the  world  well  lost,'  it  is  simply 
the  fatuous  thought  of  the  landsman  who  stands 
upon  the  shore  of  a  dangerous  coast  and  shrouds 
the  warning  pharos  that  he  may  see  the  light- 
ning play  with  the  white  wings  of  the  storm- 
driven  ships." 

Kate.  "  You  mistake  :  it  is  the  cry  of  a  ship- 
wrecked wretch  who  was  driven  by  merciless 
waves  where  there  was  no  warning  light.  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke,  save  your  child  from  chance  of 
such  disaster.  It  would  be  better,  far  better, 
that  she  should  die  now,  in  her  springtime  of 
hope  and  youth,  than  that  she  should  give  up 
the  true  heart  of  an  honest  man  who  has  won 
her  love.  Ah  !  my  friend,  the  lines  have  been 
cast  for  you  in  very  pleasant  jilaces.  You  have 
•been  sheltered  in  the  heart  of  a  true  and  faith- 
ful guardian.  Do  not  take  the  bread  of  life 
from  Molly  to  give  her  the  gilded  apples  of 
Sodom.  Believe  me,  the  ashes  are  bitter,  very 
bitter,  when  one  is  an  hungered  and  athirst." 


302  THE  MODERN  EA GAR. 

She  had  risen  from  the  table  and  had  come 
to  the  side  of  her  friend.  She  knelt  beside  the 
little  lady,  and,  putting  her  arms  about  her, 
said  pleadingly:  "You  know  Dr.  Carisbrooke's 
judgment  can  be  trusted.  You  will  give  your 
Molly  where  she  has  given  her  heart?" 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  "O  Kate!  My  beautiful, 
proud  Kate  !  I  did  not  know.  I  would  not  be- 
lieve— " 

Kate.  "  Please  do  not  say  it.  I  have  given 
you  warning.  Because  of  my  pride  I  have  hid- 
den a  wound.  I  was  taught,  by  one  sent  of 
God,  to  purify  my  pride.  I  am  learning  the  law 
of  duty.  But  hope  is  gone,  and  sometimes  re- 
solution fails.  The  aj^ples  are  very  bitter.  You 
will  please  not  speak  your  thought,  your  loving 
sympathy.  I  know  it  is  coming  in  a  full  cur- 
rent. But  I  tell  you  that  will  hurt.  We  will 
simply  never  sj^eak  again  of  my  mistake.  But 
you  will  be  good  to  Molly.  You  will  not  bar  her 
way  to  hapi^iness." 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  "I  will  not  say  her  nay, 
my  Kate.  It  is  Carisbrooke' s  place  to  decide, 
not  mine.  He  may  take  the  responsibility  on 
his  broad  shoulders ;  I  will  not  assume  the  red- 
headed future,    Kate."      There  was  a  tinge  of 


''KING  STAN:*  303 

bitterness  in  her  laugh  which  spoilt  its  natural 
mirthfulness. 

Mrs.  Hartley  led  the  way  into  the  cool  con- 
servatory, and,  seated  under  the  pink  boughs  of 
a  feathery  crape-myrtle,  their  confidential  talk 
went  on. 

Kate.  ''Were  not  the  Leszinkskys  with  you 
at  West  Point?" 

Mrs.  Carisbroolie.  "Yes.  Major  Leszink- 
sky  has  resigned.  They  are  going  to  live  at 
'The  Cedars.'  But  I  suppose  you  know  all 
that." 

Kate.  "No,  I  had  not  heard.  Julia  and  I 
were  at  Oakhill  for  a  few  weeks  this  spring — 
the  only  time  we  have  been  out  of  Washington 
since  our  return  from  Paris  in  January.  I  wrote 
to  Rue  inviting  her  to  go  with  us  for  her  Easter 
holidays,  but  she  declined.  She  has  always  de- 
clined my  invitations.  This  coolness,  which  I  do 
not  understand,  grieves  me.  I  am  her  nearest 
relative,  and  I  would  like  to  know  her  well— to 
be  friends  with  my  cousin  Margaret's  daughter. 
Do  you  know  any  reason  why  she  should  not 
visit  me  % " 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  "Nt)ne  why  she  should  not 
visit  you.^^ 


304  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Kate.  "  Your  accented  '  you '  implies  objection 
elsewhere." 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  ''There  is  objection.  Rue, 
who  is  intolerant  of  all  other  control,  obeys  her 
fatliers  slightest  expression  of  desire,  and  her 
fatlier  has  very  strongly  expressed  his  unwill- 
ingness for  her  to  know  Captain  Hartley  or 
visit  his  house.  Rue  told  me,  at  the  same  time 
she  told  me  of  her  father's  wish,  that  she  and 
her  father  regretted  the  necessity  which  sepa- 
rated her  from  '  her  dear  cousin  Kate.'  I  be- 
lieve there  is  some  old  difficulty  between  the 
Leszinkskys  and  Captain  Hartley — some  frontier 
grudge.  Carisbrooke  knows  it  all ;  but  Caris- 
brooke  keeps  his  friends'  secrets  in  some  pri- 
vate corner  of  his  inscrutable  understanding. 
Everybody  confides  in  Carisbrooke,  and  he  locks 
up  the  confidences.  The  atmosphere  of  our  home 
on  the  hill  is  dense  with  hidden  mysteries,  and 
I  assure  you  that  I  cannot  lay  eyes  on  a  key  to 
any  one  of  their  closets.  Skeletons,  my  dear — 
skeletons  in  every  one  of  them.  Whatever  this 
affair  is,  the  charming  red-topped  aspirant  for 
the  vacant  situation  of  son-in-law  to  the  Caris- 
brookes  is  a  very  potefft  influence  in  the  matter. 
I  did  not  mean  to  tell  vou.     In  fact,  Carisbrooke 


''KING  ST  an:'  305 

warned  me  not  to  tell  it ;  but  you  may  as  well 
know  it  all.  This  swaggering  dragoon,  this  scar- 
let-poll, whose  candidature  you  have  so  urged, 
my  dear,  declines  to  visit  Molly  while  she  is  a 
visitor  here.  If  I  had  not  promised  you  before 
I  would  have  accepted  your  invitation  after  I 
knew  that  fact.  In  truth,  I  would  liave  begged 
for  the  invitation.  It  seems  he  had  some  per- 
sonal collision  with  Captain  Hartley  the  last  day 
of  the  convention  in  Cincinnati  in  1856.  I  never 
could  get  the  facts  from  my  imperial  mystery- 
keeper  ;  but  I  know  there  was  talk  of  a  dueL 
For  twenty-four  hours  there  were  constant  pow- 
wows in  Carisbrooke's  sanctum.  He  and  Major 
Leszinksky  at  last  succeeded  in  cooling  my  Hot- 
spur of  a  son-in-law- that-is- to-be." 

Kate.  "Are  you  sure  it  was  Major  Carson's 
own  quarrel  ?" 

IIts.  CarlshrooTie.  "  Whose  else  could  it  be?" 

Kate.  "Major  Leszinksky 's.  I  know  he  call- 
ed Mr.  Hartley  to  account  for  bad  faith  in  selling 
a  slave  1h\  Hartley  bought  from  my  cousin  Mar- 
garet." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "Ah!  I  see,  I  see.  Why, 
Kate,  you  have  opened  one  of  the  closets.  The 
very  mystery  of  all  others  Carisbrooke  has  most 


306  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

closely  guarded  is  no  longer  a  mystery.  I  think 
you  saw  the  quadroon  Lucy  Avhen  you  were  with 
us.  She  nursed  Rue  through  that  illness  of  the 
child's,  which  was  the  result  of  the  excitement 
and  exposure  in  the  affair  at  Bouie's  Hill  when 
Mrs.  Carson  was  killed.  I  remember  now  that 
there  was  a  registration  of  free  papers.  I  know 
I  thought  it  rather  queer  that  Mr.  Horry  and 
Major  Leszinksky  went  with  Carisbrooke  and 
Lucy  to  Mr.  Grandison's  office.  But  you  say 
Captain  Hartley  bought  her  from  your  cousin 
Margaret  ;  then  who  freed  her?" 

Kate.   ''Mr.  Hartley." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  ''Oh!  Mr.  Hartley.  It  is 
plain,  my  Kate,  that  you  do  not  care  to  talk  of 
this.  But  do  let  me  ask  one  little  question : 
What  had  the  homely  Hotspur  to  do  with 
the  matter?" 

Kate.  "I  do  not  think  it  was  his  personal 
affair.  Major  Leszinksky  possibly  insisted  that 
a  wTong  should  be  redressed  ;  but  Major  Carson 
may  have  resented  the  wrong.  From  what  I 
have  heard  of  him  he  would  be  quick  to  take 
up  his  friend's  quarrel." 

Mrs.  CarisbrooJce.  "  Stanislaus  Les2inksky  is 
my  ideal  of  a  Christian  gentleman  ;  but  yet  he  is 


''KING  STANr  307 

a  soldier,  and  certainly  he  is  a  brave  man.  I  do 
not  think  he  would  13a ss  a  quarrel  to  his  friend. 
The  law  of  his  life  is  duty  ;  but  if  you  think  he 
would  avert  danger  from  himself  through  his 
friend's  risk,  you  simply  do  not  know  the 
man." 

Kate.  ''  You  misunderstand.  I  do  not  doubt 
Major  Leszinksky's  courage,  neither  do  I  doubt 
his  honor.  I  am  sure  there  is  no  danger  he 
would  not  risk  to  save  a  friend.  But  you  re- 
member his  friend  was  not  exposed.  The  duel 
that  was  talked  of  was  prevented." 

3Irs.  Carisbrooke.  "I  am  glad  you  properly 
esteem  Stanislaus  Leszinksky,  and  I  think  you 
are  right.  It  is  more  tiian  probable  that  Hotspur 
split  a  hair  in  search  of  a  quarrel  and  got  snub- 
bed for  his  pains.  An  amiable  husband  he  will 
make  Molly!" 

Kate.  '' An  excellent  one,  lam  sure.  Tender 
and  brave  go  together." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  ''Hunt  in  couples,  eh? 
Kate,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  where  you 
got  your  liking  for  the  Hlinois  major?  I  be- 
lieve, in  the  vernacular  of  his  State,  that  he 
'hails'  from  Illinois." 

Kate.  ''Colonel  Roane  esteems  Major  Carson 


308  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

highly.  You  shonld  hear  him  tell  the  story  of 
Bouie's  Hill — of  Major  Carson's  brave  defence 
of  the  Indian  chief  ;  of  his  devotion  to  his  wife ; 
of  his  gallantry  and  daring  in  coming  alone 
through  the  Indian  country  for  help  when  Colo- 
nel Kearney's  command  was  cut  off  and  sur- 
rounded by  enraged  savages." 

Mrs.  CarlshrooJce.  ''Oh!  ho!  The  Arkansaw 
Traveller?  So  he  gives  certificates  of  character 
that  pass  current  with  my  dainty  Kate."  And 
the  little  lady  nodded  an  emphasis  to  each  word. 
"  He  is  your  authority,  my  dear  ? " 

Kate.  "An  authority  as  to  character  that  I 
know  you  will  resi)ect." 

Mrs.  Carishroolce.  "I  acknowledge  him  a  sec- 
ond Daniel  come  to  judgment  when  it  is  ques- 
tion of  choice  between  bowie-knives  or  revolvers. 
His  opinion  of  a  man's  ability  to  take  care  of 
himself,  or  even  to  help  a  friend,  in  an  Arkan- 
sas free  fight,  I  should  receive  as  an  indis- 
putable dictum.  But  I  doubt  if  he  is  a  Solo- 
mon in  his  judgment  of  the  qualifications  of  a 
husband." 

Kate.  "  To  sustain  the  authority  I  have  given 
I  refer  you  to  another  fact.  Major  Carson  is 
Major  Leszinksky's  dearest   friend.     My  cousin 


''KING  STAN."  309 

Margaret  loved  him  as  a  brother.  He  is  her 
child's  godfather." 

Mrs.  Carlsbroolce.  ^'Poor  Rue!  So  that  is 
how  she  came  by  her  temper  and  her  vagaries. 
No  child  could  have  withstood  the  ill-luck  that 
must  come  from  the  infliction  of  such  a  god- 
father. Now  I  have  at  last  a  rational  explana- 
tion of  all  Rue' s  escapades.  I  am  no  longer  as- 
tonished at  the  battle  with  the  dominie,  the  flight 
from  Oxford,  or  her  taste  for  low  company." 

Kate.  ''  Aly  dear  Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  will  you  be 
good  enough  to  tell  me  what  my  young  cousin 
has  done  to  justify  the  indictment  you  prefer 
against  her?" 

Mrs.  CarishrooJie.  ''Why,  Kate,  you  are  surely 
not  offended  at  a  jest  ?  You  know  I  love  Rue 
dearly." 

Kate.  "Not  offended,  but  'the  taste  for  low 
company '  is  rather  a  strong  expression ;  and, 
frankly.  I  will  say  it  did  not  please  me.  I  do 
not  forget  that  Rue  represents  the  Cartarets. 
She  is  the  head  of  the  house.  I  am  jealous  for 
my  chief tainess.  But  I  hear  she  is  an  impulsive, 
imperious,  little  lady.  I  can  fancy  she  would 
fight  a  dominie  upon  occasion.  Please  tell  me 
the  story."     The  manner  of  the  sj)eaker  softened 


3 1 0  THE  MODERN  MA  GAR. 

the  implied  rebuke.  The  last  phrase  was  spo- 
ken in  the  jjleading  tone  of  a  child  who  asks  the 
telling  of  a  fairy  tale. 

Mis.  Carisbroolce.  "  If  I  tell  you  the  story 
you  will  have  to  confess  that  the  temper  of  your 
chief  tainess  would  better  become  the  frontier  than 
'  The  Cedars.'  Why,  Kate,  if  you  are  going  to  do 
battle  with  the  friends  who  do  not  find  Rue  per- 
fect, and  who  regret  her  bringing- up  with  sol- 
diers and  Indians,  Avhat  will  you  do  when  all 
the  starched  proprieties  of  Virginia  are  drawn 
up  in  line  against  her,  as  they  will  be  ?  Ah  !  I 
have  not  forgotten  the  conventional  dames  who 
made  my  holidays  days  of  torture.  I  fought  my 
best ;  but  those  blue-blooded  old  tabbies  gave 
me  scratches  which  were  not  altogether  surface- 
wounds.  Scars  are  hidden,  my  dear,  beneath 
the  pearl-powder  and  the  laces,  that  were  long 
in  healing.  Why,  even  in  Ohio,  on  the  hill, 
where  life  is  free  and  talk  floweth,  like  the  wind, 
where  it  listeth,  if  I  laugh  aloud — a  clear,  good, 
lung-shaking  laugh  which  has  noise  as  well  as 
gayety  in  it — and  then  close  my  eyes,  I  can  yet 
breathe  the  odor  and  hear  the  rustle  of  those  stiff, 
lavender-kept  ancestral  silks,  and  see  the  stony 
glare  of  the  pale-blue,  beady  eyes  of  the  ghosts 


'-KING   STAN."  311 

who  are  sitting  a-row  in  some  country-house  where 
the  county  grandees  are  gathered.  Eugh!  I  see 
them  now  peering  through  the  leaves  at  me." 
She  caught  her  friend's  arm  with  so  natural  an 
expression  of  terror  that  Kate  fell  into  the  mime' s 
trap  and  involuntarily  looked  around  for  the 
spectres  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  had  summoned  out  of 
the  past.  While  the  laugh  of  the  little  lady  yet 
lingered  in  the  air  Kate  repeated  the  question : 
"But  the  battle  with  the  dominie  ?" 

Mrs.  CarisbrooJce.  "Rue  fought  it  fairly,  and 
she  routed  the  enemy,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons. 
Did  you  never  hear  of  the  encounter  ?" 

Kate.   "Never." 

3£7S.  Carishrooke.  "It  should  be  told  in  a  re- 
citative epic  to  the  sound  of  martial  music.  I  am 
convinced  that  Rue  .is  possessed,  not  of  seven 
devils,  but  of  the  souls  of  many  ancestors. 
Well,  that  day  some  old  Macdonald  had  escaped 
from  his  over-warm  cell  in  the  unmentionable 
realm  and  liad  command  of  the  garrison.  The 
dominie  in  question  is  the  husband  of  Major 
Carson's  sister." 

Kate.  "I  remember — the  McCormacks.  She 
was  going  to  them  the  summer  I  saw  her  in 
Ohio.     They  lived  in  Oxford." 


312  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  ^' Right,  my  (Edipa.  Per- 
son and  place  you  have  named  correctly.  Now 
that  your  memory  has  caught  the  thread  of 
the  labyrinth,  it  may  twist  into  its  meshes 
and  bring  before  your  mind's  eye  the  boyish 
descendant  of  the  great  sachemsj  who  was 
also  going  to  dwell  with  the  McCormacks. 
In  the  Yankee  vernacular,  do  you  seem  to  see 
the  wild  young  Tom-Kitten  of  the  Seminoles  %  " 

Kate.  "  You  mean  Major  Carson's  son— young 
Stanislaus?" 

Mrs,  Carishrooke.  ' '  Yes  ;  the  grandson  of  the 
discrowned  chief  does  bear  the  name  of  the 
kingliest  of  crowned  or  uncrowned  Leszinkskys. 
Red-top  has  a  very  pretty  and  pretentious  taste 
in  the  matter  of  names." 

Kate.   ''But  the  story T^ 

Mrs.  Carisltroolie.  "You  shall  have  the  story. 
But  you  see  I  am  growing  old.  Thought  goes 
a-gadding.  To  understand  the  little  history  a 
short  i^reface  is  indispensable.  Or  do  you  pre- 
fer an  appendix  with  notes  ?  Take  your  choice. 
Such  small  matters  are  triHes  to  me.  I  am  ex- 
traordinarily clever  at  either  preface  or  appen- 
dix. T  am  not  one  of  your  common  historians, 
ready  to  cram  you  witli  facts.     I  have  tnste  and 


''KING  STAN:'  313 

discernment.  I  know  and  hnmor  a  listener's 
fancy.     Is  it  preface  or  appendix  ?  " 

Kate.  "Preface.  I  would  ratlier  swallow  the 
drauglit  and  have  done  with  it." 

Ifrs.  CarisbrooTce.  "For  that  'zmcompliment 
you  shall  have  a  double  dose.  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  commence  with  the  discovery  of  Ame- 
rica. But  to  spare  my  breath  I  shall  begin  with 
the  Florida  war  and  the  genealogy  of  my  step- 
grandson,  who  was  the  son  of  his  mother,  who 
was  the  daughter  of  '  Wild-Cat,'  who  was  the 
son  of  King  Philip,  who—  T/iere  is  a  bar- 
sinister  which  I  dare  not  cross." 

Kate.  "Confess  frankly  that  your  knowledge 
ends  there." 

Mrs.  Carislrooke.  "  So  it  ought,  my  dear. 
Am  I  not  a  Virginian,  and  do  I  not  remember 
the  tabbies?" 

Kate.   "The  story— please  begin  the  story." 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  "  I  do,  and  then  you  inter- 
rupt. Where  was  I  ?  Oh  !  King  Philip,  a  most 
illogical  Indian,  was  the  protector  and  friend  of 
a  mixed  tribe,  called  the  Black  Indians,  who 
were  the  natural  increase  of  escaped  slaves  from 
Georgia,  with  unnatural  accessions  of  fresh  run- 
aways who,   when  the  crops  were  wearing  and 


314  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

overseers  over-cruel,  were  constantly  quitting  the 
plantations  on  the  borders  for  the  isles  of  the 
Everglades,  where  the  yams  were  indigenous  and 
the  fishing  X3erpetual.  Do  you  seem  to  see  King 
Philip  and  his  allies  ?  " 

Kate.  "King  Philip,  yes;  the  charge  'most 
illogical  Indian'  not  proven." 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  "O  learned  Portia!  I  wish 
your  father  had  not  been  a  judge.  Beautiful 
Paduan,  I  will  prove  the  charge  'most  illogical.' 
This  protector  of  runaways,  this  Lloyd  Garrison 
of  the  swamps,  with  his  son  Wild-Cat,  the  sil- 
ver-tongued Wendell  Phillips  of  the  Seminoles 
who  most  eloquently  denounced  the  slave-catch- 
ing government  of  the  United  States,  were  the 
owners  of  many  black  men  and  women  whom 
they  held  enslaved.  Did  their  practice  and 
theory  correspond,  most  learned  judge?  Is  it 
logical  to  protect  runaways  and  hold  slaves,  O 
wise  young  barrister? " 

Kate.   "  Where  did  they  get  their  slaves  ? " 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  "I  will  wager  thee  my 
bracelet  against  thy  ring,  out  of  which  thou 
hast  befooled  thy  client's  friend,  that  there  is 
a  catch  in  thy  question  ;  but  I  will  answer  thee. 
They  did  not  imj^ort  the  slaves  from  heathenish 


''KING  STAN."  aio 

Africa,  as  good  Christians  should,  but  they 
captured  them  from  white  owners." 

Kate.  ''Then  they  were  the  sx)oils  of  war. 
These  submissive  slaves  of  the  Indian's  opi)res- 
sor  were  the  sinews  of  his  strength.  Nothing 
illogical  in  keeping  them  to  service  while  assist- 
ing the  unwilling  slave  to  freedom.  Their  readi- 
ness to  strike  has  prevented  the  enslavement  of 
the  Indian." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "I  commenced  to  narrate 
history.  I  did  not  mean  to  invoke  the  perturbed 
spirit  of  Political  Economy.  If  we  are  going  to 
do  that  thing,  Kate,  we  liad  better  commence 
with  the  moral  effect  upon  contemporary  art  of 
the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims.  Let  us  epitomize 
the  abstruse,  and  do  it  well  and  weightily. 
When  a  woman  goes  in  for  moral  results  in 
political  science,  sex  and  results  are  equipon- 
derate." 

Kate.  "I  cry  you  mercy!  Now  tell  me  the 
story  of  Rue  ;  we  have  surely  finished  with  gene- 
alogies.    What  of  the  dominie  ? " 

Mrs.  CarishrooTce.  ' '  Keep  in  mind  the  facts 
which  I  have  given  you.  Also  please  remember 
the  few  family  servants  Stanislaus  Leszinksky 
inherited  from  his   grandfather,   and   the  hun- 


31G  THE  MODERN  UA6AR. 

dreds  that  wait  Rue's  majority  to  call  her  mis- 
tress. In  short,  if  you  have  memorized  and  di- 
gested my  preface  you  will  easily  perceive  the 
dominie's  unfitness  to  be  guardian  and  precep- 
tor of  these  imperious  and  wilful  scions  of  two 
kingly  races — who  have  been  owners  of  serfs  and 
slaves  for  numberless  generations — when  you  un- 
derstand that  the  Rev.  Mr.  McCormack  is  a  teach- 
er and  a  light  in  the  councils  of  abolitionism." 

Kate.  "Why  did  Major  Leszinksky  choose 
such  a  home  for  my  cousin  1 " 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  '  There  spoke  the  pride  and 
prejudice  of  the  Cartarets.  ' 3fy  cousin'  /  It 
was  the  outcropping  of  the  underlying  thought 
of  all  Virginians— a  race  that  do  not  thank  God 
but  rather  congratulate  him  that  they  '  are  not 
as  other  men.'  When  I  see  how  these  absurdi- 
ties of  the  old  colonial  aristocracy  are  believed  in 
and  perpetuated,  how  the  traditions  of  race  and 
caste  keep  the  representatives  of  the  old  lords 
paramount  uppermost  in  the  State,  I  know  they 
will  finally  rule  it  to  its  ruin.  They  are  proudly 
and  profoundly  ignorant." 

Kate  {interrupting).  "You  are  scourging  your 
own  people." 

Mrs.  Carishroolce.   "Because  they  are  my  own 


''KING  STANr  317 

people  I  have  the  right  to  speak.  Truth  should 
be  critic  as  well  as  counsellor  in  family  discus- 
sion. I  repeat,  these  representatives,  encased  in 
the  ideas  of  the  last  century,  scorning  the  pro- 
gress which  they  do  not  understand,  are  con- 
sistently and  deliberately  ignorant  of  that  which, 
for  their  country's  good,  they  most  need  to 
know." 

Kate.  "Was  Major  Leszinksky's  ignorance 
the  foundation  of  his  error  in  placing  Rue  with 
those  abolitionists  ?" 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  "It  was  an  error  in  judg- 
ment from  diametrically  opposite  reasoning  to 
that,  or  rather  to  the  non-reason,  of  our  con- 
servatists." 

Kate.   ' '  Then  progress  can  be  error  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  CarishrooTce.  "My  dear,  Progress  is  often 
a  fool.  The  wise  statesman  and  the  wise  teacher 
'  hasten  slowly.'  Stanislaus  Leszinksky  and  my 
illustrious  mystery -keeper — I  am  glad  Caris- 
hrooke was  advisory  counsel  and  backer  of  his 
cousin's  stupid  choice — decided  that,  as  Rue  had 
been  over-served  and  too  devotedly  loved,  a 
change  from  the  tropic  to  the  frigid  zone  was 
the  only  and  the  specific  rem.edy.  You  see  that 
was  the  folly  of  intemperate  progress.     It  was 


318  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

the  wisdom  of  men,  my  dear — to  twist  a  girl  out 
of  her  natural  place  and  put  her  where  the  affec- 
tions would  be  stunted  and  killed.  Two  Solo- 
mons did  it,  but  any  Queen  of  Sheba  would  have 
known  better.  I  talked  wdtli  the  child' s  father 
and  reasoned  with  the  high-priest  of  my  own 
household.  The  first  urged  the  necessity  of 
moderating  Rue's  intensity  and  the  wisdom  of 
teaching  her  betimes  her  responsibility  for  the 
people  committed  to  her  care ;  the  other  jDer- 
sonage  to  Avhom  I  appealed  '  pooh-poohed '  my 
understanding  of  the  matter.  Candidl}^  I  was 
not  over-sorry  at  the  upshot.  You  know  a  wo- 
man likes  to  liave  her  beliefs  justified.  But  at 
last  we  are  coming  to  the  battle,  my  dear." 

Kate.  "  I  see  that  foreshadowed  in  your  eyes, 
OBellona!" 

Mrs,  Carisbrooke.  "Rue,  who  is  Truth  in  a 
slender  little  body,  told  me  the  story  ;  so  did 
the  dominie  when  he  came  in  wrath  to  de- 
nounce the  children  of  wrath.  You  shall  have 
the  history,  divested  of  partisan  i)rejudice,  as 
my  judicial  mind  seized  and  grouped  the  facts. 
The  first  week  in  June  the  Indian  representa- 
tive of  the  red-headed  Carsons  took  up  his 
abode  with  his  father's  sister  and  her  husband. 


''KING  STAN."  319 

The  last  of  the  same  month  Rue  left  us  for 
Oxford.  When  she  arrived  there  the  village 
was  in  a  ferment,  and  the  house  of  the  McCor- 
macks  was  the  centre  of  the  disturbance.  Three 
days  before  her  arrival  the  dominie  had  thrash- 
ed the  grandson  of  kings,  and  the  young  '  Wild- 
Kitten'  had  tried  his  claws  and  teeth  on  his 
uncle-in-law.  The  wild  thing  was  tied  hand 
and  foot ;  the  dominie's  eye  was  in  eclipse,  and 
he  carried  one  hand  in  a  sling.  Mrs.  McCor- 
mack  was  divided  in  affection,  but  clear  as  to 
duty.  (The  most  detestable  of  mortals  are  those 
duty-dames  who  are  such  experts  at  self-control 
when  Murdstone  gets  his  fling  at  child-torture.) 
She  made  no  moan  of  remonstrance — at  least 
none  heard  by  the  compassionate  villagers — when 
the  manacled  young  savage  was  consigned  to  the 
limbo  of  a  hot  garret  under  the  roof.  Professor 
Mitre,  one  of  the  Oxford  dons  who  had  been  vis- 
iting us,  took  charge  of  Hue  for  the  short  jour- 
ney. I  had  wished  to  go  with  the  child,  but 
Solomon  decided  it  was  better  for  her  to  arrive 
alone  at  the  McCormacks' ,  '  so  that  she  would  at 
once,  and  naturally,  fall  into  her  place  in  the 
household.'  As  it  happened,  Solomon's  decision 
was  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  twinship  of  wis- 


320  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

dom  with — well,  with  the  other  thing.  You  re- 
member 'the  princess,'  as  Colonel  Roane  calls 
her,  has  the  prettiest  little  manner  ever  seen  out 
of  a  French  comedy.  There  is  an  unconscious 
royalty  in  her  imperiously  courteous  speech,  a 
dignified  yet  girlish  shyness  in  her  carriage, 
which,  united  as  it  is  to  a  certain  soldierly 
directness,  almost  bluntness,  in  manner  when 
stating  a  wish  or  asking  a  question — demands 
and  obtains  for  her  instant  and  deferential  at- 
tention. After  a  very  short  conversation  with 
Mrs.  McCormack,  and  a  bare  interchange  of 
polite  greeting  with  the  dominie,  whom  she 
confesses  to  have  disliked  at  sight,  she  very  na- 
turally soon  asked  for  her  '  cousin.'  (You  know 
Eue  has  been  brought  uj)  to  consider  herself 
akin  to  the  'red- tops.')  Mrs.  McConnack  said 
she  was  '  sorry  her  nephew  could  not  be  with 
them  that  evening,'  which  Rue  accepted  as  ex- 
cuse for  some  unavoidable  absence  from  the 
house  that  she  could  not  understand,  but  which 
it  might  be  discourteous  to  question.  As  for  the 
boy's  welfare  or  safety  she  had  not  tlie  slightest 
uneasiness.  How  could  she  in  the  house  of  his 
father's  sister  'i 

"  The  next  morning  a  slight  but  courteous  in- 


''KING  STAN.'*  321 

qniry  was  skilfully  parried.  To  do  the  dominie 
justice,  he  made  neither  excuse  nor  apology. 
After  breakfast  he  set  himself  to  his  task  as 
instructor,  and  Rue  settled  steadily  to  work 
without  a  day' s  delay.  Several  days  passed  and 
the  boy  had  not  appeared.  By  this  time  Rue 
had  doubts  and  preoccupations  of  her  own,  and 
was  rather  glad  little  '  Stan '  was  not  there  un- 
til her  doubts  should  be  resolved.  Since  the 
first  day  of  her  anival,  morning  and  evening, 
she  heard  earnest,  agonizing  prayer — it  was  real- 
ly sincere — for  the  liberation  of  the  black  men 
and  women  who  were  so  cruelly  held  in  bondage. 
Continued  repetition  fixed  these  words  in  the 
child's  memory:  'May  Thy  trials  and  plagues 
come  upon  these  worse  than  Egyptian  task-mas- 
ters until  they  let  the  slave  go  free !  May  the 
plague-spot  be  cleaned  from  the  nation,  and 
the  shedders  of  innocent  blood  and  the  doers  of 
violence  be  punished  !  '*  Rue's  thought  had  be- 
gun to  take  knowledge  of  the  petitioner's  mean- 
ing, when  one  morning,  in  an  unusually  fervid 
heat,  the  dominie  prayed  *  that  the  lesson  of 
God's  vengeance  might  be  taught  to  the  slave- 
owners,  if  need  be,    through   the   death  of   the 

*  Quoted  from  Helper's  book. 


322  THE  MODERN  EAOAR. 

tirst-born ;  that  the  Union  might  be  broken 
into  fragments  and  the  innocent  freed  from 
blood-guiltiness  and  crime ;  that  the  criminal 
might  be  scourged  away  from  his  sin.'  When 
that  prayer  ended  Hue's  question  was  very  di- 
rect :  '  Are  all  who  own  negroes  sinners  and 
criminals  ? '  '  Yes,'  said  the  dominie  stoutly, 
'all.'  Rue  continued  :  '  My  father  owns  the  ser- 
vants who  belonged  to  Grandpapa  Mason.  I  will 
own  all  the  people  on  my  Grandpapa  Cartaret's 
estates.  My  father  told  me  you  would  teach  me 
how  to  care  for  and  protect  my  black  people. 
He  wished  me  to  come  ISorth,  that  I  might  learn 
the  value  of  labor  and  how  to  educate  my  labor- 
ers for  the  future  in  which  he  hoped  they  would 
be  free.  He  said  if  the  people  of  the  ]S"orth  and 
South  knew  each  other's  thoughts  and  troubles 
it  would  teach  them  to  be  more  charitable.  He 
wished  me  to.  love  the  whole  country  and  to  feel 
that  we  are  one  people.  He  explained  this  to  me 
over  and  over,  that  I  might  understand.  But  you 
have  slandered  my  father  in  your  prayers.  You 
hate  us,  and  you  do  not  really  love  our  black 
people.  If  you  did  you  would  not  pray  for  evil 
to  come  upon  us,  for  they  love"  us.  My  father 
prays  for  them  and  for  me,  that  I  may  do  them 


''KING  STANr  323 

good.  But  you — I  cannot  teacli  you  all  my  father 
has  taught  me,  but  I  will  never  listen  to  another 
of  your  prayers.  They  do  not  make  me  try  to  do 
good,  to  be  better  ;  they  only  make  me  angry.' 
She  was  leaving  the  room,  after  preaching  her  ser- 
mon on  charity,  when  he  rudely  caught  her  arm. 
He  hurt  the  tender  flesh — the  print  of  his  fingers 
lasted  for  days — but  she  would  not  cry  out  at 
the  pain,  because  she  thought  it  was  not  intend- 
ed. Holding  her  there,  he  denounced  her  spirit 
as  '  the  spirit  of  the  slave-holder,  which  should 
and  would  be  fettered.'  The  Southerners,  he 
said,  were  '  ruffians,  criminals,  outlaws  ;  their 
treatment  of  their  slaves  wicked,  monstrous, 
damnable  ;  an  honest  man  could  have  no  fel- 
lowship with  them  in  religion  or  society.'  "^ 
This  much  the  child  remembered,  and  he  him- 
self repeated  it  when  he  was  defending  what  he 
had  said.  There  were  other  expressions,  descrip- 
tive of  social  crimes  and  horrors,  that  fortunate- 
ly Rue  did  not  understand.  From  his  own  show- 
ing he  raved  himself  breathless.  When  he  could 
listen  she  ordered  him  to  release  her,  and  to  be 
silent  in  her  presence  until  her  father  should 
come  and  take  her  from  his  house.      He  com- 

*  Helper's  book. 


324  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

plained  that  she  ordered  him,  and  she  admitted 
the  ordering.  I  can  imagine  her  steadily  cou- 
rageous and  haughtily  imperious  manner  in  giv- 
ing her  orders.  Then  the  man  must  have  lost 
his  senses — he  says  he  lost  his  temper,  but  I  am 
sure  he  did  not ;  the  most  charitable  conclusion 
is  that  he  is  demented.  He  shook  her  violently, 
and  then  as  he  released  her,  throwing  her  from 
him,  her  shoulder  struck  against  the  low  mantel- 
piece and  dislocated  her  left  arm.  Tlie  dominie 
sprang  forward — he  says  to  catch  her  from  fall- 
ing ;  she  thought  to  strike  her.  Rue  is  active  and 
quick,  and  in  her  life  on  the  frontier  has  learned 
to  improvise  weapons.  She  caught  up  the  fire- 
tongs — which,  from  their  effect  upon  a  hard  sub- 
stance, I  imagine  were  excellent  steel— and  floor- 
ed the  dominie." 

Kate.  ''She  was  perfectly  in  the  right.  I  hope 
she  hurt  him." 

Mrs.  Carishroolce.  ''I  tell  you,  my  dear,  she 
laid  him  out.  Mrs.  McCormack's  shrieks  brought 
a  servant,  who,  finding  the  dominie  senseless  on 
the  floor  and  Rue  pale  and  faint  on  a  lounge, 
rushed  out  and  gave  the  quiet  village  an  unac- 
customed sensation  by  crying  '  Murder ! '  Tlie 
little  study  was  soon  crowded.     Our  friend  Pro- 


^^KING  STAN:'  325 

fessor  Mitre  arrived  witli  two  of  the  village  doc- 
tors. By  tliat  time  tlie  child's  arm  was  so  swoll- 
en and  painful  that  Mrs.  McCormack's  accu- 
sations of  murderous  intention  were  met  by 
counter-accusations,  made  by  persons  who  had 
already  heard  whisperings  of  the  dominie' s  cruel- 
ty to  his  wife's  nephew,  and  who  now  found  con- 
firmation of  that  story  in  the  injury  to  Rue. 
When  the  dominie  recovered  consciousness  he 
was  alone  with  his  wife  and  one  physician. 
Rue's  arm  had  been  set  and  bandaged,  and 
an  indignation  meeting  was  being  held  in  the 
hall.  The  universal  opinion  of  the  doctor's 
knock-down  was,  *  Served  him  right.'  For  Rue 
there  was  the  kindliest  and  most  outspoken  sym- 
pathy. Then  there  was  talk  of  the  child  in  the 
garret.  Rue,  hearing  this,  asked  quick,  anxious 
questions  ;  and  regardless  of  the  cautions  of  her 
new-found  friends,  who  begged  her  to  vrait  the 
return  of  the  gentleman  who  had  gone  to  liberate 
the  boy,  she  ran  up  the  stairs.  The  little,  dark 
garret  was  open,  and  Rue  heard  Professor  Mitre's 
voice  in  pitying  accents — '  My  poor  boy  !  poor 
child !  poor  child  ! '  The  professor  had  cut  the 
rope  that  tied  the  child  to  the  sloping  rafters, 
and  which  confined  him  to  a  small  pallet-bed. 


326  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

His  liands  were  tied  together  behind  Ms  back 
with  a  soft  but  strong  cloth  bandage.  The 
avoidance  of  injury  in  the  manner  of  the  band- 
age had  been  the  dominie's  only  mercy.  The 
meeting  of  the  children,  Rue's  heart-broken  sobs 
for  the  boy' s  suffering — she  had  never  uttered  a 
complaint  when  her  arm  was  set — his  pitiful 
manner  of  looking  at  her  and  stroking  her  band- 
aged arm,  brought  tlie  temper  of  the  sympa- 
thetic on-lookers  to  siicli  heat  that  bnt  for  the 
physician' s  assurance  that  the  dominie' s  case  was 
critical  he  would  have  been  lynched  then  and 
there.  Mrs.  McCormack  came  into  the  hall  and 
loyally  defended  her  husband.  I  tell  you,  Kate, 
there  are  women  born  to  reverence  the  Murd- 
stones  of  this  world.  She  insisted  that  the  domi- 
nie had  acted  from  a  sense  of  duty  in  iDunishing 
the  boy,  who  Avas  obdurate,  and  who  had  con- 
stantly fought  his  uncle,  refusing  to  promise 
amendment  if  he  was  released.  She  said  his  In- 
dian blood  and  his  untamed  spirit  made  discipline 
difficult,  but  that  his  father  had  wished  him  to 
be  controlled  and  taught  to  obey.  As  to  Rue, 
she  had  been  'insolent  and  aggressive'  ;  that  her 
husband  had  only  held  the  girl's  arm  when  he 
was  speaking  to  her ;  and  that  as  soon  as  he  re- 


''KING  STAN:'  327 

leased  it  she  liad  caiight  the  tongs  and  struck  him 
a  blow  that  might  yet  be  fatal.  Her  story  was 
listened  to  coldly,  but  it  made  impression.  The 
noise  quieted  and  the  little  assembly  dispersed. 
Professor  Mitre  waited  until  all  were  gone.  He 
then  frankly  expressed  to  Mrs.  McCormack  his 
disapprobation  of  the  dominie's  methods  of  in- 
struction and  his  own  determination  to  write  to 
us.  He  said  that  as  Rue  had  been  sent  to  Ox- 
ford under  his  protection  as  escort,  it  was  his 
duty  to  let  us  know  at  once  the  very  difficult 
situation  of  affairs.  Mrs.  McCormack  agreed 
that  it  was  his  duty.  He  offered  to  take  Rue 
home  with  him  until  her  friends  came.  But  Rue 
refused  to  leave  the  boy,  and  Mrs.  McCormack 
said  firmly  '  Stan '  should  not  leave  the  house  ex- 
cept with  his  father.  She  promised  that  the  chil- 
dren should  not  be  separated  or  punished  in  any 
manner.  So  the  professor  was  obliged  to  accept 
her  promise  and  leave  the  children.  All  that 
day  they  stayed  quietly  in  Rue's  room.  Twice 
the  sympathetic  servant  took  them  food.  In  the 
evening,  when  the  doctor  came  to  see  the  domi- 
nie, he  went  up  to  Rue,  telling  her  Mr.  McCor- 
mack was  ^  much  better,  that  he  would  soon  be 
well,'  and  rearranging  the  bandages.     The  next 


328  TEE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

morning,  before  breakfast,  I  heard  Molly  call  her 
fatlier  in  sucli  quick,  excited  tones  that  I  was 
frightened.  Such  noise  from  that  placid  person 
made  me  think  the  house  afire.  I  rushed  to  the 
piazza  and  found  two  trembling,  feverish,  foot- 
sore childi^en  telling  the  tale  I  have  just  told 
you.  They  had  left  the  McConnacks  at  mid- 
night and  walked  twelve  miles  to  Hamilton. 
From  there  they  took  the  first  train  to  the  Mill 
Creek  station,  where  they  hired  an  expressman 
to  bring  them  to  us.  Rue's  arm  was  terribly  in- 
flamed ;  she  was  sick  for  a  week.  I  never  saw 
such  dog-like  devotion — the  comparison,  I  as- 
sure you,  is  meant  as  a  compliment — as  that  the 
Wild-Kitten  showed  your  chieftainess.  Night 
and  day  he  was  seated  on  the  mat  at  her  door. 
Carisbrooke,  who  never  threatens,  actually  did 
say  he  would  send  him  back  to  the  dominie  if  he 
would  not  go  to  bed." 

Kate.  ' '  You  see  there  is  good  blood  in  the 
boy." 

Mrs.  CarishrooTce.  "Possibly — on  the  Indian 
side.  I  am  sure  he  did  not  get  many  good  drops 
from  his  Aunt  McCormack." 

Kate.  ''There  is  excuse  for  her:  she  believed 
in   her   husband.      You    admit    that    he  is  an 


'^KINO  STANr  329 

honest  fanatic.  But  when  did  you  hear  his 
story?" 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  *'The  morning  after  the 
children  arrived  Carisbrooke  wrote  to  the  do- 
minie that  he  intended  to  keep  the  children  until 
he  heard  from  their  parents.  But  the  dominie 
came  within  a  week  to  demand  the  boy.  I  be- 
lieve Carisbrooke  would  have  trusted  his  pro- 
mises and  given  Wild-Kitten  up  but  for  me,  or 
rather  for  what  I  knew  the  result  would  be  to 
Hue.  The  excitement  of  her  campaign  with  the 
Abolition  forces  had  brought  back  the  nervous 
fever  from  which  she  had  so  lately  recovered." 

Kaie.  "It  was  during  the  next  spring  that 
Major  Leszinksky  took  her  to  Philadelphia  % " 

Mrs,  Carisbrooke.  "Yes;  and  the  young 
'Wild-Cat'  remained  with  us.  So  you  see 
Rue's  battle  with  the  dominie  brought  Red-top 
about  our  house  at  all  times  and  seasons,  and 
was  the  primal  cause  of  my  affliction  in  this  mat- 
ter of  a  son-in-law." 

Ko.te.  "At  last.  'Mary-buds  'gin  ope  their 
eyes,'  and  here  is  my  dear  Molly."  Then  a  femi- 
nine osculation  began  which  so  enraged  this  his- 
torian that  he  gathered  up  his  notes  and  abrupt- 
ly closed  the  chapter. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 


'^  A  calm,  restful  nature,  -vrhicli  brings  solace  and  blessing  to  th-.  poor, 
worn,  tired  wayfarers  who  are  all  a-quiver  with  the  agonj  of  life's  de- 
feat."—Old  MS. 


SUCH  a  nature  was  Molly's  :  not  beautiful — 
her  motlier's  daughter  could  not  well  have 
been  a  beauty — but  lovable,  and  lovely  as 
the  mignonette  through  that  subtle  radiation, 
that  aronia  of  quality,  which  is  the  greatest  as 
it  is  also  the  rarest  charm  of  girlhood.  Stand- 
ing there  between  two  representative  women — 
the  beauty  and  the  woman  of  spirit — Molly' s  at- 
tractiveness was  heightened  and  defined.  It 
was  the  simple  charm  of  perfect  womanliness. 

The  rose  is  queen  of  the  garden,  the  flame  of 
the  marigold  kindles  the  fancy  of  poet  and  ar- 
tist, but  the  mignonette  is  tenderly  gathered 
and  pressed  to  the  lips  and  heart  of  the  lover. 

Kate.  ' '  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  here  ;  and 
so  glad  for  you,  my  Molly." 

Molly.  "  And  I  to  see  you.  But  why  are  you 
glad  for  me,  Cousin  Kate  ? " 

880     . 


'^KINQ  STAN.''  331 

Kate.  "That  'the  prince  has  come,'  and  that 
he  is  a  true  prince  and  lover." 

Mrs.  CarisbrooTce.  "A  fiddlestick  for  such  a 
prince !  A  carroty -headed  sachem  of  the  Illi- 
nois swamiDS !  A  girl's  wits  must  have  gone 
vrool-gathering  when  she  picks  up  such  a 
prize." 

Holly.  "The  matei^  does  not  mean  it,  Cousin 
Kate.' '  The  girl  bent  her  blushing  face  to  kiss 
her  mother's  eyes,  saying:  "She  is  the  dearest 
and  kindest  of  mothers  ;  but  she  is  a  tempery 
little  woman,  and  sometimes  she  forgets  that 
words  are  bees,  which  sting  when  they  are 
roughly  or  carelessly  handled." 

Hrs.  Carishrooke.  "I  wish  you  joy  of  your 
sachem,     ]^[ow  are  you  content?" 

Molly.  ' '  Perfectly  content,  mamma.  The  ring 
of  sarcasm  in  jour  tone  does  not  deceive  me.  I 
hear  under  it  full  and  true  joy-wishes.  Cousin 
Kate  will  xDardon  me  for  thanking  you  for  your 
tardy  congratulation  before  I  thank  her  for  her 
free-will  offering.  You  make  me  very  happy, 
mamma."  Again  the  girl  bent  to  her  mother, 
who  fondly  kissed  her  and  then  quietly  turned 
and  left  the  conservatory,  Molly,  looking  after 
her,  said  softly  :  "  Poor  mamma !     That  spoken 


332  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

consent  has  cost  her  dear.  We  shall  know  how 
to  thank  her  for  it." 

The  plural  was  the  proof  of  love's  truth  and 
love's  strength.  But  just  here  the  ghi  and  her 
friend,  after  their  feminine  fashion,  again  fell 
a-kissing.     With  that  I  left  the  house. 

Putting  in  my  pocket  the  ring  of  Gryges,  I 
sauntered  up  Pennsylvania  Avenue.  Stopping 
to  exchange  salutations  with  the  dandies  who 
were  posing  under  the  canopied  entrance  of  the 
National  Hotel,  I  met  that  prince  of  humorists 
and  king  of  good  fellows,  the  greatest  popular 
orator  of  his  time— the  Hon.  Thomas  Corwin, 
of  Ohio.  He,  using  me  as  a  providential  and 
convenient  crutch  to  his  carriage,  took  me  to 
the  Capitol.  Strange  to  say,  in  that  seething 
political  period  our  talk  was  not  of  sections  nor 
of  parties.  It  was  of  Thackeray.  This  was  how 
it  came  about.  Asking  about  an  acquaintance, 
the  answer  was  a  story  of  misfortune  ending  in 
disgrace.  We  were  both  silent  for  a  little  while, 
when  Mr.  Corwin  began  :  ^'  'It  is  so  easy  to  be 
good  upon  five  thousand  a  year.'  In  that  sen- 
tence Becky  Sharp  gives  the  pith  and  substance 
of  human  ethics.  Poverty  is  the  touchstone 
of   virtue,   my  friend.     If  you  wiU  watch  the 


*'KINQ  STANr  333 

working  of  ProTidence  yon  will  see  that  it 
mostly  spares  tlie  weakest,  the  meanest,  and  the 
most  nnscrnpnlons  from  tonch  of  the  talis- 
man. Those  are  the  three  classes  that  wax  fat 
with  riches.  In  the  world's  economy  they  serve 
base  nses.  Like  their  ducats,  they  are  moulded 
of  malleable  metal.  Now,  the  human  wedges 
that  are  made  to  split  difficulties  must  be 
wrought  of  solid  iron  or  fibrous  steel.  If  a  bit 
of  rotten  old  stuff  from  a  wedge  that  served  a 
rougher  generation  has  been  carelessly  thrown 
into  the  furnace  with  the  new  ore,  it  will  crumble 
to  pieces  upon  the  anvil  ;  or  if  the  steel  has  a 
flaw  in  it,  it  will  damage  things  as  it  breaks  un- 
der the  hammer.  But  at  least  it  has  been  put  to 
the  proof.  Poor  B !  He  would  have  mould- 
ed into  f  -od  and  passable  pennies  ;  but  he  had 
not  the  smff  in  him  for  a  wedge.  He  would  have 
been  very  'good  upon  five  thousand  a  year.' 
Did  you  see  Thackeray  when  he  was  here  ? " 

^'IS^o." 

''Ah!  what  a  miss  was  that — not  to  have 
seen  the  wisest  and  humanest  of  living  English 
essayists,  and,  save  Shakespeare,  the  greatest  of 
living  or  dead  creators  and  analysts  of  men 
and  women!    x\nd  the  man  himself  is  so  leva- 


334  TEE  MODERN  EAGAR. 

ble,  SO  full  of  quips  and  quirks  of  humor  and 
patlios,  of  playfulness  and  melancholy." 

"  I  thought  him  the  grimmest  of  cynics." 

'^I  credited  you  with  better  judgment.  I  did 
not  think  you  would  pin  your  faith  upon  the 
shallow  evidence  which  tickles  the  ears  of  the 
groundlings.  Study  '  Henry  Esmond.'  Take 
'  Vanity  Fair '  itself — that  picture  which  is  al- 
most awful  in  its  truth ;  that  Hogarthian  pano- 
rama of  London,  which  is  to  say  of  the  world's 
heart — and  you  will  find  that  the  true  artist  who 
sees  men  and  women  as  they  are,  gives  them  at 
their  best,  whilst  preserving  the  human  likeness. 
He  lets  in  the  sunlight,  but  he  softens  the  sha- 
dows. Why,  I  tell  you  I  love  Becky  Sharp, 
and  so  did  Thackeray." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  what  yon  say,  for  of  all 
of  the  writers  of  this  century  I  admire  him  most." 

* '  Which  seems  to  me  damnable  and  faint 
praise.  Why,  man,  he  is  the  last  of  the  demi- 
gods. The  nearest  approach  to  him  in  this  cen- 
tury is  the  Frenchman  Balzac.  Yet  see  the  dif- 
ference :  both  give  realistic  pictures  of  life,  but 
one  saddens  and  teaches  you  to  excuse,  while  the 
other  disgusts  and  teaches  you  to  contemn,  hu- 
manity." 


''KING  STAN."  335 

*^  I  have  never  read  Balzac." 

**Then  read  '  Pere  Goriot';  it  is  the  'King 
Lear'  of  French  literature.  The  best  recom- 
mendation of  Balzac  that  I  can  give  you  is 
Thackeray's  admiration  for  him.  He  told  me 
he  was  content  with  the  days  when  he  was  too 
ill  to  work,  for  then  he  could  shut  the  door 
against  bores  and  read  Balzac." 

''Did  you  see  much  of  Thackeray?" 

"He  visited  me  at  Lebanon.  They  were 
weeks  of  perfect  delight  to  every  member  of 
my  household.  It  is  the  period  of  time  which 
of  all  others  it  would  most  grieve  me  to  for- 
get." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  good  time  for  Thackeray 
— that  is,  if  an  Englishman  could  understand 
your  humor.  But  your  very  face  is  a  comedy  ; 
he  would  surely  understand  that." 

The  wry  face  that  was  twisted  at  me  then  set 
me  in  a  roar  of  laughter,  which  was  hushed  as 
wen  as  might  be  when  Mr.  Corwin  spoke ;  but 
even  then  there  was  a  running  cackle  that  I 
found  it  impossible  to  check  as  that  most  mo- 
bile of  faces  gave  a  rich,  humorous  meaning  and 
comic  emphasis  to  every  word. 

"So  you  have  fallen  into  that  fool's  trap?    I 


336  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"pledge  you  my  honor  I  am  the  most  serious  man 
alive.  Can  I  help  it  if,  when  I  talk  words  of 
soberness  and  wisdom,  asses  will  laugh  ?  I  am 
the  most  unfortunate  of  men — plain,  blunt,  ear- 
nest, and  yet  when  1  sjDeak  men  grin  at  me  as 
if  Harlequin  had  that  minute  jumped  from  my 
throat.  It  is  a  curse,  sir — I  tell  you  it  is  a  curse. 
It  has  lamed  my  life  and  killed  my  ambition.  I 
am  constantly  taken  for  a  buffoon,  sir — a  sense- 
less jest-maker.  I  no  sooner  appear  upon  the 
stump,  sir,  to  instruct  my  fellow-citizens  upon 
grave  questions  of  public  polity,  than  I  find  my- 
self face  to  face  with  countless  grinning  apes, 
who  think  they  see  in  me  an  instigator  and  pro- 
moter of  their  diabolical  mirth.  I  tell  you  it  has 
killed  me,  sir.  It  has  killed  me  politically  and 
judicially.  When  I  argue  a  point  of  law  the 
court  grins.  When  I  defend  a  murderer,  and 
paint  a  picture  of  remorse  and  despair  which 
would  move  an  angel  to  tears,  sir,  twelve  idiots 
laugh  in  the  jury-box.  In  the  Senate,  sir,  even 
in  the  Senate,  when  I  am  only  anxious  to  have 
my  rare  and  rarely  eloquent  attempts  to  save  the 
country  listened  to  and  put  in  print,  sir — like  the 
balance  of  'em — I  tell  you,  sir,  senators  roar  at 
me — roar  at  me." 


''KINO  STAN."'  337 

I  could  hear  no  more,  for  just  then  we  en- 
tered tlie  Capitol  and  passed  into  the  Vice-Presi- 
dent's room.  A  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
were  talking  with  the  second  citizen  of  the 
United  States,  and,  recognizing  my  people,  I 
left  Mr.  Corwin  dolefully  facing  a  gaunt,  tall 
millionaire  from  New  York,  who  immediately 
began  boring  him  with  a  steamship  mail  con- 
tract. Slipping  on  my  j)recious  ring,  I  glided 
into  place  near  Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  Mrs.  Hartley, 
and  Molly.  Captain  Hartley,  who  for  three 
years  had  been  a  member  of  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives, was  in  attendance  upon  Mrs.  Ca- 
risbrooke. The  Arkansian,  Colonel  Roane — also 
a  member — was  the  escort  of  Mrs.  Hartley  and 
Molly.  Washington  is  the  city  of  surprises  as 
well  as  ^'magnificent  distances."  When  the 
door-bell  of  a  resident  rings  it  may  be  a 
neighbor  from  next  door  or  a  gentleman  from 
Timbuctoo  who  is  announced.  ''It  is  the  un- 
expected that  always  arrives"  at  the  Colum- 
bian city.  Having  learned  this  truism,  Mrs. 
Hartley  was  not  at  all  astonished  at  the 
sudden  appearance  of  Grandison  and  Horry 
while  Mr.  Breckenridge  was  cordially  wel- 
coming   his  old    friends    the    Carisbrookes    -to 


338  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

Washington.  Th(^n  there  was  half  an  honr  of 
greeting,  of  mutual  inquiry  and  desultory  talk 
of  old  friends  and  of  x^ast  and  coming  changes. 
Grandison  had  been  for  two  years  a  resident  of 
Texas,  Coming  through  Cincinnati  on  his  way 
to  Washington,  he  had  brought  Hon-y  with  him 
— a  willing  captive.  There  were  politicians^  in 
and  out  of  place,  waiting  for  a  w^ord  with  Breck- 
enridge.  The  Vice-President  was  in  a  chr3^salis 
state.  This  week  his  wings  were  opening  to 
carry  the  Presidency,  and  an  astounding  num- 
ber of  assistants  were  making  mad  rushes  from 
Baltimore,  that  they  might  be  ready  to  brush  the 
expanding  wings. 

Such  courtiers  soon  grow  impatient  of  their 
lord's  delay.  Why  should  he  waste  speech 
upon  the  ears  of  women  wdiile  the  cringing, 
fawning  parasites  w^ait  to  begin  their  chorus? 
The  murmur  of  their  discontent  reached  him, 
and  with  hurried  adieux  the  ambitious  aspirant 
for  the  first  place  in  the  republic  rustled  his  bud- 
ding wings  and  flew  to  listen  to  the  ambassadors 
from  the  caucuses — those  spokesmen  of  the  peo- 
ple, those  democratic  high-x^riests,  who  have 
proved  to  the  ages  that  grand  ^T^truth ;  that 
the  voice  of  the  people  is  the  voice  of  God. 


''KiNa  stan:'  339 

Horry  offered  his  arm  to  Molly,  saying:  ''Be- 
ing a  youtlil'ul  and  unshackled  knight,  I  dare 
offer  my  arm  where  I  have  vainly  tendered  my 
hand.  Possibly,  Miss  Molly,  I  may  win  grati- 
tude for  taking  you  out  of  danger,  though  love 
failed  me.  When  you  think  I  have  had  time 
to  enumerate  my  virtues  and  charms,  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke,  you  will  find  us  in  the  library." 

Captain  Hartley  was  about  to  leave  his  wife 
and  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  in  the  rotunda  near  the 
library  door,  with  Grandison  and  Roane,  when 
his  sister,  Mrs.  Cartaret,  met  them. 

It  was  explained  that,  the  wind  being  unfavor- 
able, the  yachting  party  had  decided  to  visit  the 
Cajpitol.  They  had  but  just  arrived  from  Alex- 
andria. Some  of  the  party  knew  Mrs,.  Caris- 
brooke ;  all  but  two  were  friends  of  Mrs.  Hartley. 

Captain  Hartley  had  a  queer  look  on  his  face, 
and  Mrs.  Cartaret  seemed  much  embarrassed 
when  she  introduced  the  two  strangers  to  her 
sister-in-law.  One  was  a  beautiful  young  girl, 
child-like  in  face,  but  developed  in  form  to  such 
perfectness  that  face  and  figure  were  sufficiently 
contradictory  to  be  puzzling  in  their  definition  of 
age.  The  other  was  an  exceedingly  handsome, 
self-satisfied  young  dandy,  who  was  introduced 


340  THE  MODERN  HA  GA  R. 

as  "my  cousin,  Mr.  Bradnor."  The- girl's  name 
had  been  too  indistinctly  spoken  to  be  heard. 
Kate  looked  inquiringly  at  her  sister-in-law,  and 
the  name  was  repeated — ''Miss  Mai  Hilton." 
The  name  implied  kinship  to  Mrs.  Cartaret's  first 
husband.  The  second  inquiry  was  spoken  :  "A 
relative?" 

Mrs.  Cartaret.  ''Yes,  a  relative." 

Mrs.  Hartley.  "I  am  glad  to  welcome  a  rela- 
tive of  my  sister's  to  Washington.  I  hope  she 
wili  persuade  you  to  stay  with  us,  Miss  Hilton. 
We  can  offer  you  unusual  attraction.  Mrs.  Ca- 
risbrooke  and  her  daughter  will  help  us  make 
your  visit  pleasant.  Before  you  decide  let  me 
introduce  you  to  Molly  ;  I  am  sure  you  will  then 
decide  in  our  favor." 

Mrs.  Hartley  was  about  to  lead  the  way  in 
search  of  Molly.  She  had  not  waited  for  an  an- 
swer. She  wished  first  to  prepare  the  girl  for 
acceptance.  She  saw  her  sister-in-law's  embar- 
rassment and  misinterpreted  it.  She  thought  it 
a  scruple  of  Mrs.  Cartaret' s — a  desire  not  to 
force  an  offer  of  hospitality  to  a  Hilton,  to  a  rela- 
tive of  her  first  husband.  She  turned  and  took 
the  young  girl' s  hand  to  lead  her  to  the  library. 
Mrs.    Carisbrooke  and    Mrs.   Cartaret  were  to- 


KING  STAN:'  841 


gether,  but  Mrs.  Cartaret  was  evidently  only 
half  listening  to  her  companion.  Captain  Hart- 
ley liad  either  forgotten  the  business  which  he 
had  urged  as  an  excuse  for  leaving  them,  or  the 
presence  of  the  New-Yorkers  had  determined 
him  to  break  his  engagement.  Grandison  and 
Koane  were  just  without  the  library  door,  waiting 
for  the  ladies.  Thus  they  were  in  broken  groups, 
but  all  interest  evidently  centred  upon  Mrs.  Hart- 
ley and  her  companion. 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  conscious  of  Mrs.  Cartaret' s 
absorption,  again  looked  at  Miss  Hilton,  wonder- 
ing what  likeness  it  was  she  saw.  Suddenly  the 
strangest  recollection  came  to  her.  As  she  looked 
at  the  full,  sensuous  beauty  of  the  girl,  through 
some  subtle  likeness  that  worked  the  transforma- 
tion the  pale,  worn  face,  the  shrunken,  fragile 
form,  of  the  quadroon  Lucy  seemed  to  stand  be- 
fore her.  She  was  so  startled  at  the  thought 
that  she  looked  quickly  around,  as  if  in  fear  of 
some  one  reading  her  thought.  She  saw  Captain 
Hartley,  pale  and  eager,  watching  his  wife ;  and 
the  mystery  of  Mrs.  Cartaret' s  embarrassment 
was  solved. 

The  yachting  party  were  busy  with  a  cLance 
acquaintance  they  had  met  in  the  rotunda.    Mrs. 


342  THE  MODERN  HAG  AM. 

Cartaret  had  turned  to  them,  and  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke  was  close  to  Kate,  who  was  now  looking 
in  a  bewildered  way  into  the  girl's  eyes.  They 
seemed  to  her  the  violet  eyes  of  the  baby  who 
died  in  her  aims  years  ago  at  Oakhill.  Tliere 
was  a  quick  spasm  of  pain  at  her  heart ;  she  w^as 
pale  to  the  very  lips,  but  she  said  to  the  girl : 

«<  Forgive  my  rudeness.  Your  eyes  are  my  ex- 
cuse. They  are  very  like — like  eyes  that  were 
dear  to  me  lon'g  ago."  There  was  a  questioning 
look  in  the  girl's  beautiful  eyes  ;  but  they  closed 
softly  as  Kate,  knowing  this  was  '^  Bagar^  s^'' 
cliild,  stooped  and  kissed  the  blue- veined  lids. 

Need  we  wonder  that  the  divine  spirit  of  mo- 
therhood has  been  cro^\^led  Queen  of  Heaven 
when  day  after  day  we  see  the  miracles  it  works 
in  the  hearts  of  flesh  ?  Hand-in-hand  the  two 
went  in  search  of  Molly,  leaving  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke,  who  was  quickly  joined  by  Grandison 
and  Roane. 

The  yachting  party,  with  Mrs.  Cartaret  as  cice- 
rone— who  was  glad  to  get  aw^ay  from  the  ex- 
plosion she  feared — were  busy  examining  those 
w^onderful  si^ecimens  of  crude  art,  those  unique 
illustrations  of  the  Pocahontian  period,  and  the 
later    historic   absurdities   which    now   decorate 


''KING  STAN."  343 

(and  disfigure)  the  central  gallery  of  the  Capi- 
tol. 

As  his  wife  and  his  daughter  went  through  the 
door  leading  to  the  library  Cai^tain  Hartley  again 
hastily  made  his  excuses  to  his  friends:  ''they 
were  waiting  for  him  in  his  committee-room.'' 

Hartley  had  need  to  be  alone.  The  eternal  bat- 
tle of  good  and  evil  was  raging  within  him.  In 
the  beginning  he  had  loved  his  daughter  because 
of  her  beauty  and  of  a  resemblance  that  flatter- 
ed his  vanity.  But  love,  that  works  ]3urification 
through  ways  that  mere  reason  cannot  follow  nor 
understand,  was  gradually  purging  the  dross  of 
self  from  his  affection  for  his  child.  He  w^as  be- 
coming capable  of  sacrifice  and  of  gratitude  for 
her  sake.  This  love  for  her  and  his  life  in  her 
were  already  apart  from  that  other  life  he  had 
lived.  I  can  best  express  my  meaning  by  saying 
that  in  his  heart  he  had  set  up  a  wall  of  par- 
tition between  his  vices,  Avith  their  resultant 
crimes,  and  his  daughter.  His  wife's  recogni- 
tion of  his  daughter — for  he  did  not  doubt  that 
Kate  had  recognijsed  the  child  she  had  seen 
at  Oakhill— endangei'ed  his  wall  of  partition. 
Their  clasping  hands  linked  his  daughter  to  his 
crimes.     Then,   in    his  thought,   he  cursed  his 


344  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

sister  for  the  folly  of  her  management.  From 
the  first  he  had  felt  no  particular  thankful- 
ness for  her  interest  in  the  child.  Nor  did  he 
credit  her  now  with  the  care,  the  protection, 
and  name  she  had  given  his  daughter.  With 
the  fatuity  of  anger  he  insisted  to  himself,  "that 
he  could  have  done  much  better  for  Mai  if 
Julia  had  not  meddled.''  Mrs.  Cartaret's  in- 
dulgent kindness  to  her  "ward"  had  brought 
about  this  conjunction  that  threatened  a  fresh  at- 
tack from  the  tormentors  that  had  found  him  in 
Cincinnati,  where  remorse  had  so  nearly  forced 
him  to  confession,  and  where  terror  had  con- 
fronted him  with  a  ghost  under  the  lamp-light 
that  had  not  been  altogether  laid,  for  in  waking 
and  sleeping  dreams  he  had  been  pursued  by  the 
dumb  pleading  of  the  robbed  mother.  Would 
she  always  be  dumb  ?  She  had  refused  his  offer 
of  money  for  release  of  her  right  in  her  child. 
She  had  left  the  child  with  him,  but  she  had  made 
no  promise.  Would  she  not  assert  her  right  ? 
Twice  he  had  seen  her  in  the  hallway  of  the 
school  in  Philadelphia  where  Mai  was.  Twice 
she  had  nursed  the  child  through  slight  illnesses. 
After  each  of  these  attacks  of  her  child  Lucy's 
own   malady  had  returned  and  fshe  had  disap- 


^'KING  ST  an:'  345 

peared.  Slie  was  slightly  insane— even  Dr. 
Carisbrooke  admitted  that— and  Hartley  dared 
not  have  her  consigned  to  a  mad-house,  because 
of  the  Carisbrookes  and  of  Leszinksky.  And 
now  Julia's  folly  had  brought  Mai  face  to  face 
with  the  Carisbrookes.  They  would  know  ;  and 
he  fell  a-cursing  not  only  in  thought  but  in 
words.  Remorse  had  not  yet  brought  repen- 
tance. 

As  Grandison  and  Roane  joined  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke, Grandison  asked:  "Who  is  this  new 
beauty,  this  rising  star,  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  ? " 

Mrs.  Carishroolce.  "Miss  Hilton— some  con- 
nection of  Mrs.  Cartaret's.  Her  first  husband 
was  a  Hilton,  and  a  precious  scamp." 

She  could  not  resist  this  fling  at  the  girl.  Con- 
sciously—for she  understood  the  hidden  relation- 
jgliip_s]ie  resented  what  she  defined  to  herself  as 
"an  insult  to  Kate,  this  presentation  of  a  rela- 
tive whom  Mrs.  Cartaret  should  have  ignored." 
Unconsciously  she  was  provoked  and  jealous  of 
the  beauty  which  so  eclipsed  Molly's. 

Colonel  Boane.   "Had  the  'precious  scamp'  a 
^  '  visible  admixture '  of  African  blood  \  " 

Mrs.  Carishroolte.  "No;  I  think  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  has  to  bear  the  burden  of  his  ill- 


34G  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

deeds.     The  blood  was  bad,  but  I  believe  it  ran 
in  the  veins  of  a  white  man." 

There  was  a  secret  triumph  in  her  thought, 
which  it  was  hard  to  keep  from  expression,  that, 
despite  the  giiTs  beauty,  something  betrayed  the 
octoroon  to  eyes  so  keen  and  so  experienced  as 
those  of  the  Arkansian  slave- owner. 

Grandison.  "\  was  sure  you  were  mistaken, 
Eoane.  He  insisted,  Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  that  there 
was  an  unmistakable  taint  of  the  African  in  the 
very  perfectness  of  that  rare  beauty." 

Roane.  "  Knowing  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  is  neither 
indiscreet  in  speech  nor  intolerant  of  expression 
of  belief  founded  on  reason,  I  still  insist  that  an 
honest  eighth  of  the  '  Beauty' s '  blood  came  from 
Africa." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.   ''What  are  your  proofs?" 

Grandison.   "Yes,  proofs — give  us  proofs  !  " 

Roane.  ''They  are  difficult  to  classify,  but 
they  are  irrefutable.  Any  negro-trader  would 
see  them  at  once.  First,  the  peculiar  color  of  the 
eyes." 

Grandison.  "They  are  pure  violet  eyes — 
'deeply,  darkly  blue.'  " 

Roane.  "Blue  sat  in  ivory.  There  is  no  re- 
flection of  their  color  in  the  surrounding  white. 


"KING  STANr  347 

It  is  simply  a  dead  white  up  to  the  line  of  the 
iris.  Captain  Hartley  has  eyes  of  the  same 
color,  but  observe  the  difference  in  the  reflec- 
tion." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke  {blankly).  '*  Captain  Hart- 
ley?" 

Grandison  {repeats).  "  Captain  Hartley  !  By 
Jove,  there  is  a  likeness !  What  do  you  mean, 
Roane?" 

Roane.  "Simply  to  point  the  difference  there 
is  between  the  violet  eyes  of  an  octoroon  and 
those  of  a  Caucasian." 

A  woman's  persistence  in  inquiry,  always  re- 
markable, is  peculiarly  so  when  her  flounces 
skirt  the  edge  of  a  question  which  it  would  be 
indiscreet  to  attack  directly.  The  ingenuity,  the 
dexterity,  the  mental  agility  then  shown  by  a 
daughter*  of  Eve  have  a  certain  charm  for  me. 
A  stolid  man  is  always  wondering  what  next. 
It  is  the  much-vaunted  attraction  of  the  un- 
known. 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "The  eye-proof  is  not  de- 
cisive." 

Grandison.   ' '  Nor  satisfactory. ' ' 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.   "  You  are  silenced  ? " 

Roane.   ' '  Neither  the  color  nor  the  wave  of 


348  THE  MODERN  EAGAR. 

the  silky  hair  do  I  claiin  as  proofs  positive,  but 
they  are  aids  to  opinion." 

3Trs.  Carisbrooke.   ''  They  are  not  proofs." 

Roane,  "  jS'o,  madam;  I  admit  tliey  are  not. 
But  there  is  a  test,  an  infallible  test ;  only  I  can- 
not api^ly  it.  I^either  could  I  see  the  base  of 
the  glove-covered  nails." 

Mrs.  Garisbrooke.  "Then  the  nails  are 
proofs \ " 

Roane.  ''Assuredly.  Where  there  is  mixed 
blood  the  base  of  the  rosiest  nails  will  be  slightly 
discolored.  Just  the  faintest  tinge  of  yellow  or 
brown  is  proof." 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.   "And  the  infallible  test  ?  " 

Roane.   "  Is  the  point  of  the  nose." 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  "What  absurdity  is  that? 
Why,  the  girl's  nose  is  simply  perfect !  " 

Grandison.  "  Could  not  be  purer  Greek  if  it 
had  been  cut  by  Phidias  or  Praxiteles." 

Roane.  "  Shape  is  nothing  in  the  proof.  The 
test  is  not  a  question  of  shape,  neither  is  it  of 
color.  And  who  dare  touch  that  lovely  nose  to 
resolve  the  question?" 

Mrs.  CarishrooJie  and  Grandison  at  once. 
"Touch  the  nose!" 

Roane.   "Yes;    to  feel  if  the  cartilage  is  di- 


''KING  STANr  349 

vided  at  the  point.  In  the  pure-blooded  African 
the  cartilage  of  the  nose  is  undivided  and  wholly 
unsupported  by  an  upspringing  bridge.  With 
the  '  visible  admixture '  you  get  the  supx)ort, 
but  there  is  still  a  drooping  and  undivided  carti- 
lage. In  the  octoroon,  and  even  the  quadroon, 
the  nose  may  be  the  arched  Roman  or  the 
straight  and  shapely  Greek,  but  as  long  as 
there  is  a  drop  of  the  African  blood  there  is 
no  percex)tible  division  of  the  cartilage  of  the 
nostrils  at  the  outer  point  of  the  nose.  In  the 
white  race  the  division  is  marked." 

Mrs.  Carishrooke  and  Grandison^  feeling  their 
noses.   "Yes!" 

Roane,  ' '  That  is  the  infallible  test.  But  who 
dare  apply  it  to  the  '  Beauty '  ? " 

Nothing  more  was  said,  and  the  "nosologists  " 
looked  guiltily  at  each  other  as  the  "Beauty" 
appeared  with  Molly  in  tlie  open  doorvv^ay.  But 
Mrs.  Carisbrooke  had  privately  determined  that  a 
certain  scientific  looking  into  things  is  not  only 
permissible  but  laudable. 

Kate  had  joined  the  girls,  and  Horry  came  to 
the  waiting  trio  of  scientists  and  made  this  com- 
plaint to  Mrs.  Carisbrooke : 

Horry.   "Madam,  I  am  thrown  overboard.     I 


350  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

am  an  offering  to  the  sharks  that  swim  in  the 
troubled  waters  through  which  sail  the  ships 
that  carry  the  fortunes  of  bachelors.  Once  again, 
madam,  your  daughter  has  discarded  me.  It  is 
a  vicious  habit  she  acquired  in  her  childhood. 
You  should  look  to  it  that  she  correct  it.  She 
hinted  an  apology  that  adds  to  the  bitterness  of 
defeat.  T  did  not  dare  disturb  the  calm  seren- 
ity of  her  soul  with  question,  but  I  ask  you  to 
settle  my  doubt,  to  end  my  misery.  Is  there 
another  Richmond  in  the  field— another  and  a 
better?" 

The  tall,  thin  figure  was  stiffened  to  its  utmost 
height,  and  the  long,  thin,  shapely  fingers  and 
the  clear  hazel  eyes  pointed  and  flashed  the 
question. 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  ''Your  regrets  are  as  no- 
thing to  mine.  You  know  you  were  my  ideal  of 
my  coming  son-in-law.  But,  alas  for  my  dream  ! 
there  is  another — and  such  another !  Where  you 
are  tall,  he  is  short ;  where  you  are  thin,  he  is 
thick ;  where  you  are  courteous,  and  wise,  and 
witty,  he  is  brusque  and — well,  he  is  solidly  sen- 
sible, but  not  bright.  Then  he  is  bullet-headed 
and  red-headed,  w^here  you  are — " 

She  paused,  and  Horry,  who  had  accented  each 


''KING  STAN."  351 

comparison  by  a  tragi-comic  pose,  touched  his 
thin  gray  hair. 

Horry.  ^'I  see  him,  madam!  More  for  you 
than  for  myself — though  the  gods  know  how 
I  suffer  —  do  I  regret  his  success.  Why, 
look  on  that  picture  and  on  this.  You  had 
not  finished  your  sketch?  But  see  this  clas- 
sic front,  these  abundant  locks,  sable-silver- 
ed. Why,  madam,  for  her  to  make  such  a 
choice,  to  give  me  such  a  rival,  is  the  poisoned 
sting  in  the  arrow  of  fate.  The  subtle  irony 
of  malignant  fortune  runs  through  every  word 
that  has  thus  brought  me  face  to  face  with 
disaster." 

Roane,  "Is  this  a  farce,  Mrs.  Carisbrooke, 
or  is  Miss  Molly  engaged  ?  I  presume  so  old  a 
friend  of  yours,  so  devoted  an  admirer  of  Miss 
Molly' s,  as  I  am  may  ask.' ' 

Mrs,  Carislrooke.  ' '  I  thought  your  friend  had 
told  you — for  he  is  your  friend.  Molly  is  en- 
gaged to  Major  Carson." 

Roane.  "Then  I  can  most  sincerely  offer  my 
congratulations.  May  I  congratulate  Miss  Molly, 
or  is  it  not  to  be  told  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "It  is  not  to  be  proclaim- 
ed from  the  house-tops,  but  it  may  be  quietly 


352  THE  MODERN  IIAGAR. 

spoken.     To  me  it  is  yet  more  a  subject  for  con- 
dolence than  congratulation." 

Grandlson.  ''Your  loss  is  great  —  an  only 
daughter." 

Roane.  "But  you  gain  a  son,  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke." 

Mrs,  Carishrooke.   "  Sucli  a  son  ! " 

Horry.   "  And  to  lose  such  a  daughter !  " 

Roane.  "  That  is  Carson' s  gain.  If  it  offends 
you,  Mrs.  Carisbrooke — but  I  do  not  believe 
it  will — I  must  say  it.  I  think  they  are  very 
fairly  mated.  A  brave,  true,  and  loyal  gentle- 
man has  won  a  very  perfect  wife." 

Horry.  ' '  Is  the  end  of  all  things  near  at 
hand  \    When  will  this  marriage  come  to  pass  V 

Mrs,  Carishroolie.  "  When  she  and  Carisbrooke 
please  ;  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  matter." 

Roane.  "  I  do  not  think  it  will  be  long  before 
you  are  out  of  your  agony,  Horry ;  the  proclama- 
tion is  now  being  made,  Mrs.  Carisbrooke." 

She  turned  to  see  both  Molly's  hands  in  Car- 
son' s,  who,  regardless  of  the  place  and  the  little 
assembly,  kissed  the  broad,  fair  brow  of  his  pro- 
mised wife. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

The  coachman  ^v]\o  drives  a  four-in-hand  needs  to  keep  his  wits 
ahout  him  and  his  reins  untangled.  Since  I  started  with  these  slviltish 
and  badly-broken  colts  I  have  put  down  but  few  of  the  people  booked  at 
the  start,  though  I  have  been  forced  to  take  up  fresh  passengers  at  every 
stopping-place.  The  shadowy  and  silent  ■'  Hagar  "  still  sits  beside  me,  and 
1  have  dropped  but  two  of  the  outsiders.  But  the  places  inside  are  fast 
being  filled  by  the  people  I  pick  up  by  the  way.  I  know  the  colts  are 
likely  to  be  over-weighted,  but  what  can  I  do  ?  There  are  yet  empty 
places,  and  when  I  would  fain  pass  the  wayfarer  who  beckons,  some  "  nob" 
on  top  calls  out,  "  That  is  the  person  I  told  you  we  should  find  about  here. 
Halloo,  driver!  do  you  hear?  Let  me  down  or  take  him  (or  her)  up!" 
So  another  is  entered  for  the  trip,  as  there  are  empty  places  inside  and 
seats  in  the  rumble.  TThat  am  I  to  do  ?  I  dare  not  lose  a  first-class  pas- 
senger and  bring  the  contractors  in  for  damages,  though  in  this  over- 
effort  there  is  danger  of  an  upset. 

[Let  us  drop  this  prolonged  simile  for  a  grievance.] 

A  WISE  reviewer  found  a  double  autliorship  in 
my  last  book.  I  think  the  same  sagacious 
critic  may  by  the  same  rule  find  a  dozen 
hands  in  this.  There  are  ^'pot-hooks  and  hang- 
ers," the  round  letters  of  the  school-boy  and  es- 
says at  copper-plate  ;  there  are  the  long,  skipping 
lines  of  a  French  running-hand  and  the  heavy 
down-slopes  of  an  English  writer,  the  slant  of  a 
cynic  and  the  slow  uprise  of  a  melancholy  hu- 
morist.    The  critic  had  and  he  shall  have  reason 


354  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

for  the  petty  sarcasm.  To  save  a  re\\Titing,  which 
might  give  him  pain,  I  am  willing  to  confess 
there  are  many  of  me.  There  is  the  penny-a- 
liner  ;  he,  poor  wretch,  comes  in  the  headachy 
days  when  debts  are  pressing  and  there  is  a 
general  emptiness  in  this  work-a-day  world. 
There  is  the  valiant  braggart  who  would  fain  be 
fine  and  ruffle  it  with  the  wits  who  have  swag- 
gered in  the  sunshine  of  popular  favor  ;  what 
splashes  and  dashes  he  leaves  upon  the  page ! 
There  is  the  poor  scholar  who  courts  the  muses 
and  sighs  after  greatness  ;  he  tenders  me  broken 
hexameters  and  scraps  from  the  Yirgilians.  And 
on  rare  days— alackaday  tliat  the  white  stones  are 
so  few ! — comes  the  honest  worker,  who  writes 
the  truths  he  has  gathered  in  the  school  of  a 
bitter  experience,  which  he  pitifully  tries  to 
sweeten  with  the  pictured  reflection  of  the  good 
deeds  he  has  seen  shining  in  this  naughty  world. 
Having  headed  this  chapter  with  sops,  with 
which  I  pray  the  gods  may  soften  Cerberus,  I 
shall  leave  those  people  we  met  in  the  rotunda 
to  talk  love  (as  a  few  of  them  will  do  without 
our  leave)  or  politics  (which  is  hot  work  with  the 
thermometer  up  in  the  nineties  and  threats  of 
secession  in  the  throats  of  all  the  Southerners) 


''KING  STAN.'*  355 

while  I  go  back  and  see  what  changes  these  four 
years  have  worked  to  the  Leszinkskys. 

I  think  I  have  said  somewhere — but  if  I  have 
it  will  bear  repetition,  and  if  I  have  not  I  say  it 
now — that  there  was  always  in  the  manner  of 
Stanislaus  Leszinksky  to  any  woman  thrown 
upon  his  care  a  tender  solicitude,  a  careful 
watching  of  little  things,  an  anxious  haste  to 
shield  from  the  small  discomforts  of  life,  a  mag- 
netic consciousness  of  feminine  wants,  a  sym- 
pathetic softening  of  harsh  or  discordant  sur- 
roundings, which  won  him  the  loving  gratitude 
of  every  woman  thus  X3laced. 

Kue's  experience  with  the  dominie,  though  it 
may  have  failed  to  teach  her  aught  else,  had 
taught  her  to  understand  and  appreciate  the  rare 
minor  excellences  of  her  father's  character. 

After  the  Oxford  fiasco  Rue  was  for  two 
months  at  Rosebank — neither  ill  nor  well,  but, 
as  Dr.  Carisbrooke  decided,  needing  careful 
watching,  good  nursing,  and  rest.  The  watch- 
ing the  doctor  gave,  Lucy  was  the  nurse,  and 
Molly  the  restful  companion. 

In  September  Major  Leszinksky  came  and  took 
Rue  for  a  short  visit  to  Mount  Hope,  intending 
to  go   thence  to   Philadelphia.     But  there  was 


356  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

such  a  nervous  outbreak  when  the  time  of  part- 
ing with  her  father  came  that  he  could  not  resist 
her  prayer  to  go  home  with  him,  although  there 
she  was  a  discordant  element — she  had  never  for- 
given her  stepmother  for  the  tannt  which  she 
believed  had  driven  the  Big  Chief  to  his  death, 
nor  for  the  selfishness  of  fright  which  had  shut 
Mrs.  Carson  off  from  a  place  of  refuge.  Had  the 
family  still  been  at  Bouie's  Hill,  where  all  these 
mournful  recollections  centred,  Rue  would  have 
steeled  herself  to  the  parting  with  her  father  and 
conquered  her  dislike  to  Northern  schools.  But 
Leszinksky  had  been  ordered  to  one  of  the  posts 
on  the  Rio  Grande,  and  the  change  and  the  free 
life  on  the  frontier,  to  which  Rue  had  long  been 
accustomed,  seemed  to  him  the  most  promising 
cure  for  a  malady  which  threatened  to  undermine 
the  child's  strength. 

The  difficulty  for  Major  Leszinksky  was  to 
harmonize  his  household.  His  mfe's  health  was 
frail,  and  her  temper  sullenly  jealous  and  easy 
to  take  offence.  To  keep  Rue  out  of  the  house, 
to  restore  her  strength  and  build  up  her  mental 
as  well  as  bodily  health,  he  made  her  his  com- 
rade. 

At  drill,  in  camp  inspection,  in  the  short  ex- 


^^KING  STANr  357 

cursions  to  the  neigliboring  settlements,  even  in 
the  busy  hours  of  his  office-work,  Rue  was  al- 
ways by  her  father's  side.  She  had  been  taught 
to  ride  in  her  babyhood  ;  she  was  now  taught  to 
swim,  to  shoot,  to  fence.  She  was  truly  a  child 
of  the  camp.  Every  soldier  in  the  old  regiment 
was  her  personal  acquaintance  and  comrade. 
She  was  first  at  parade,  first  in  the  saddle  when 
the  bugle  sounded.  ]N"o  words  of  compliment 
ever  brought  to  her  the  thrill  of  delight  she  felt 
when  she  heard  Carson  say  to  her  father  :  "  That 
child  does  more  for  the  behavior  of  the  troops 
than  the  entire  War  Department  could  do.  The 
greatest  blackguard  among  them  is  a  gentleman 
in  her  presence.  I  am  sure  they  would  follow 
her  lead  if  she  charged  the  very  devil  him- 
self." 

The  last  phrase  so  captivated  Rue's  fancy 
that  it  led  to  results  that  changed  the  manner  of 
her  life.  Her  accomplishments  were  already 
those  of  a  boy.  Her  education  was  of  necessity 
masculine  and  desultory.  Her  father  was  her 
tutor  ;  the  few  hours  he  could  spare  from  his 
regimental  work  were  spent  in  study  with  his 
daughter,  and  then  he  never  tolerated  careless- 
ness or  idleness.     But  the  great  evil  in  this  way 


358  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

of  life  was  that  Rue  was  rapidly  acquiring  the 
manner  of  a  boy  accustomed  to  rule  by  the  slight- 
est expression  of  will,  and  to  whom  instant  obe- 
dience was  given. 

During  that  fall  a  young  officer,  just  graduated 
from  West  Point,  had  joined  the  regiment.  With 
the  unreasoning  prejudice  of  a  child,  which,  with 
the  frankness  of  a  child,  Rue  took  no  pains  to 
hide,  she  disliked  the  new-comer.  Her  father's 
reproof  forced  a  cold  X)oliteness,  though  even  that 
was  grudgingly  given.  Either  from  quick  mag- 
netic sympathy  with  their  favorite,  or  else  from 
the  same  indefinable  sensation  of  repulsion,  the 
regiment  disliked  the  young  fellow.  When  on 
duty  he  was  obeyed,  but  the  obedience  was  not 
the  warm,  spontaneous  acceptance  of  command 
which  is  given  where  rule  is  enforced  by  respect 
and  personal  regard.  With  the  quick  percep- 
tion of  a  child  Rue  felt  this,  and  felt  also  that 
the  officers  were  in  a  measure  affected  by  it. 

The  young  lieutenant  was  exceedingly  hand- 
some and  something  of  a  dandy.  Through  tliat 
quality  a  way  of  offence  was  found. 

In  Lieutenant  Bradnor's  first  scouting  expe- 
dition he  had  Bob  Stearns  for  guide.  The  lieu- 
tenant, unlearned  in  frontier  life,  came  to  the 


'*KING  STAN."  359 

start  in  a  spotless  new  uniform.  Rue's  ste^D- 
motlier  was  unusually  ill,  and  lier  father  had 
gone  with  the  surgeon  to  his  wife's  room,  so 
Kue  was  alone  at  the  office.  She  called  Bob  to 
make  some  change  in  a  new  collar  he  had  given 
Bruno,  and  said  in  an  undertone : 

"  Take  the  lieutenant  through  the  swamp, 
Bob,  through  the  black  mud  and  the  under- 
growth." 

"  Yes,  Cap'n  Eue,"  he  answered,  with  a 
broad  grin  of  approval. 

''If  he  stands  that  without  spoiling,  swim  the 
'cut-off.'     That  dandy  rig  needs  christening." 

He  touched  his  cap ;  and  as  the  men  rode  by 
she  saw  the  mirthful  mischief  in  the  bronzed 
faces,  and  knew  the  order  had  passed  doAvn 
the  line.  They  returned  at  sundown.  The  lieu- 
tenant, wet,  scratched,  dirty,  and  furious,  dis- 
mounted to  give  his  report  to  Major  Leszink- 
sky.  As  he  passed  Rue  .she  laughed  and  walk- 
ed carelessly  to  where  the  men  waited. 

"  You  did  it  well,  Bob." 

"  Yes,  Cap'n  Rue ;  the  chaparral  was  tougher 
and  the  mud  blacker 'n  usual." 

There  was  half -suppressed  laughter,  and  the 
lieutenant  turned  to  look.     He  understood  the 


360  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

conspiracy.  His  report  was  soon  made  and  he 
left  hurriedly  for  his  quarters.  Major  Leszink- 
sky  came  to  the  door  and  called,  in  a  voice  Avhich 
indicated  that  he  was  angry  : 

''Stearns!" 

"  Here,  major." 

"Go  to  the  guard-house  and  report  yourself 
under  arrest." 

"  Yes,  major." 

"Take  the  men  with  you." 

"  Are  they  all  under  arrest,  major?" 

"Yes." 

"  Papa  !  papa  !  please  do  not  punish  the  men. 
It  was  my  fault.     I  gave  the  order." 

"What  order?" 

"The  order — to — to — spoil  the  lieutenant's 
dandy  uniform  and  scratch  him  in  the  bushes." 

Her  father  went  hastily  into  the  office,  wliilst 
she  followed  the  squad  to  the  guard-house  with 
words  of  cheer,  and  then  rushed  off  to  beg  Car- 
son's intercession  in  their  behalf.  On  her  Avay 
back  she  met  Lieutenant  Bradnor,  who  had 
changed  his  clothing  and  was  going  to  supper. 
Slie  laughed  and  saluted  him,  Jbut  he  passed 
without  look  or  sign  of  recognition.  Bruno, 
accustomed  to  friendly   greeting,    stopped  with 


''KINO  STAN.*'  3G1 

a  mild  look  of  expectancy,  and  received  only  a 
vicious  and  severe  kick.  The  dog  growled,  then 
Icfoked  at  his  mistress  ;  the  kick  was  repeated 
and  he  sprang  at  the  aggressor.  In  an  instant 
Rue  caught  Bruno's  collar  and  held  him,  say- 
ing: 

' '  You  are  a  coward  or  you  would  not  have 
kicked  my  dog.  You  would  like  to  strike  me,  if 
you  dared.  Although  you  are  not  a  gentleman, 
and  not  entitled  to  be  treated  like  a  gentleman, 
you  belong  to  our  regiment.  /  ordered  you  to 
be  swamped  and  scratched,  so  I  will  give  you 
your  revenge.  I  shoot  better  than  you,  but 
you  fence  well  and  the  chances  are  equal.  Will 
you  try  the  foils  ?    You  can  take  the  buttons  off." 

''My  daughter!"  And  her  fathers  arm  was 
around  her  and  she  was  led  to  the  house.  He 
shov/ed  that  he  was  grieved  and  annoyed.  He 
reasoned  with  her,  ridiculed  her  outburst,  and 
tried  in  all  ways  to  make  her  see  the  enormity  of 
her  offence.  When  this  failed  to  cool  her  tem- 
per he  drew  her  to  him,  held  her  in  his  arms,  and 
talked  to  her  lovingly  and  tenderly,  blaming  him- 
self for  her  rough  training.  This  broke  her  stub- 
bornness, and  in  a  rush  of  repentant  feeling  she 
offered  to  apologize  to  the  lieutenant. 


362  THE  MODEHN  II AGAR. 

'^  No,  yoii  sliall  not  do  that.  You  shall  never 
violate  your  conscience  through  your  affection 
for  me.  You  are  not  sorry  for  tlie  wrong — ycTu 
are  only  sorry  I  am  grieved." 

''Yes,  sir;  but  that  is  enough.  I  do  dislike 
the  dandy,  but  I  did  wrong  to  give  that  order  to 
Bob.  The  men  Avould  risk  any  punishment  to 
please  me  ;  so  all  the  more  it  was  selfish  to  send 
them  where  I  did  not  go.  I  know  they  would 
charge  the  devil  himself,  if  I  bid  them." 

'*  I  did  not  know  you  used  such  language.  I 
did  not  believe  you  had  learned  such  expres- 
sions. I  trusted  the  regiment — its  affection  for 
you,  its  respect  for  me." 

''  Do  not  blame  the  men,  papa.  I  heard  Uncle 
Billy  tell  you  that.  The  men  never  swear  if  they 
see  me,  but — I  JiaDe  caught  some  phrases  in  the 
garrison." 

''Such  as—?" 

"Well,  I  don't  swear  wickedly.  I  say  'the 
devil '  sometimes,  and  the  other  day  when  1  cut 
my  hand  with  Bruno's  collar — " 

"What  then?" 

"I  did  say — well,  I  swore.  Uncle  Billy  heard 
me.  He  spoke  to  me  about  it  and  about  mam- 
ma ;  so  you  see  I  have  dropped  it." 


*'KIXG  STAN."  363. 

*'I  hear  how  you  liave  dropped  it." 

*'But,  papa,  about  the  men— I  was  the  only 
one  to  blame.  I  wish  yon  would  put  me  in  the 
guard-house  and  let  off  Bob  and  the  others." 

''And  when  you  were  out  again  I  presume 
you  would  still  insist  upon  a  duel  with  Brad- 
nor?" 

"  I  would  rather  like  it,  but  I  suppose  it  can 
be  arranged  without  that.  If  he  will  apologize 
for  kicking  Bruno  I  shall  be  perfectly  willing  to 
apologize  for  the  mud  and  the  briers." 

Eue's  ludicrous  earnestness  made  further  re- 
proof impossible.  But  the  result  was  worse  than 
reproof.  The  next  day  Major  Leszinksky  wrote 
to  arrange  for  her  going  to  Philadelphia.  She 
might  stay  at  home  until  after  Easter  ;  with  two 
months  more  of  liberty  she  must  perforce  be 
content. 

Bob  and  the  men  were  released  with  a  rep- 
rimand for  their  "stupidity  as  guides."  Car- 
son was  the  orator  on  that  occasion. 

The  entire  story  was  soon  garrison  property. 

The  swamp  and  the  duel  were  too  much  for 
Bradnor.  The  ridicule  of  the  "juniors  "  and  the 
severely  respectful  demeanor  of  the  men  m.ade 
life  on  the  frontier  (where  so  much  depends  on 


3G4  THE  MODERN  IIAGAR. 

friendly  relations  with  associates)  unendumble. 
He  asked  to  be  exchanged,  and,  that  failing,  re- 
signed. 

The  last  two  months  Rue  passed  at  the  fort 
brought  her  more  of  pain  than  happiness.  It 
was  a  constant  leave-taking  which  seemed  to 
pull  at  every  fibre  of  Rue's  being.  She  was  a 
product  of  the  jjlains,  and  she  instinctively 
dreaded  the  trammels  of  a  more  formal  society. 
The  stalwart  troopers  and  rough  border  settlers 
were  devoted  to  the  child  born  and  brought 
up  in  their  own  rugged  Avay  of  life.  But  from 
the  formalists  of  an  older  civilization  she  knew 
she  could  only  expect  a  patronizing  toleration. 
Every  reproof,  every  suggestion  of  improvement 
she  had  heretofore  received  was  put  in  the  form 
of  a  comiDarison.  There  were  in  the  far-off  East 
models  of  deportment  that  she  detested — correct 
and  perfect  jDatterns  that  made  Rue  despair  of 
the  future.  So  her  grief  grew  witli  what  it  fed 
on,  and  a  longing  for  solitude  came  upon  her. 
She  took  lonely  rides  to  outlying  ranches  and 
Indian  lodges,  until  one  evening,  after  a  late  re- 
turn, her  father,  seeing  the  blown  condition  of  her 
pony,  inquired  the  distance  she  had  gone  and 
forbade  her  leaving  the  fort  without  an  escort. 


''KING  STAN."  zm 

For  the  last  two  weeks  of  her  stay  at  the 
fort,  accompanied  by  Bob  Stearns  and  "the 
squad,"  Rue  was  almost  constantly  in  the  sad- 
dle. The  unrest  and  fever  of  grief  were  upon 
her,  a  wild  yearning  for  escape  from  what  she 
regarded  as  a  coming  imprisonment.  She  could 
only  lose  thought  in  the  rush  of  a  mad  gallop, 
in  the  flying  feet  of  a  wild  mustang,  until  even 
those  hard  riders  found  the  following  difficult. 
It  was  wonderful,  their  sympathy  with  her  moods 
and  her  sorrow.  Not  a  word  of  remonstrance 
was  uttered,  no  matter  into  what  difficulties  her 
reckless  disregard  of  paths  led  ;  always  a  sub- 
dued, respectful  tone.  Once  when  she  left  them, 
bidding  them  wait,  and  climbed  the  steep  bluff, 
driven  by  the  savage  instinct  that  would  hide 
pain,  she  dismounted  and  threw  herself  on  the 
ground  in  a  tempest  of  grief.  The  mustang 
started  back  to  the  fort ;  the  men  caught  him 
and  waited  whilst  Bob  sought  the  unhorsed 
rider. 

"Cap'n!  Cap'n  Rue!"  he  said  softly,  and 
when  she  looked  up,  through  blinded  eyes,  it 
was  to  see  great  tears  falling  over  his  weather- 
beaten  face. 

''I  was  oneasy,  Cap'n  Rue,  and  thought  I  had 


366  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

better  come  whar  I  mought  hear  you  call,  so  be  I 
was  needed.  You're  lookin'  mighty  white  and 
peaked  lately.  And  the  pity  on  it's  a-wearin' 
all  the  good  out-en  the  regiment.  I  wish  we'd 
broke  that  pesky  lef tenant's  neck  the  day  we 
'  swamped '  him,  so  be  an'  half  on  us  had  been 
court-martialled  and  shot  for  it.  Then  the 
major  wouldn't  a-got  this  school  projec'  in  his 
head." 

'*It  was  not  that— not  altogether  that.  Bob— 
I  need  the  school — papa  is  right  to  send  me — 
and  you  fellows— must  save  him  trouble  when  I 
am  gone — I  won' t  have  any  grumbling  or  insub- 
ordination among  the  men." 

^'No,  Cap'n  Eue." 

*'You  will  be  good  to  my  little  sister— and 
teach  her  to  ride,  Bob — you  taught  me — make 
her  strong  and  healthy — let  her  have  my  old 
pony — it's  gentle — and — talk  of  me  to  lier  some- 
times— you  must  never  forget  me — you — all — " 

Here  there  was  a  complete  double  break,  until, 
with  a  gasp  and  a  broken  sob,  the  girl  stilled 
herself  and  led  the  way  to  where  the  men  waited. 
The  hardest  of  the  wrench  was  over.  That  day 
was  the  burial  of  Rue's  childhood. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  spring  Rue  was  in  her 


''KING  STAN."  367 

place  at  school,  a  solitary  child  in  that  busy,' 
miniature  world.  The  heiress  of  the  great  Carta- 
ret  estate  would  have  given  it  all  for  one  wild 
ride  over  the  rolling  prairie ;  as  for  friendship, 
she  had  left  that  out  there  with  "Bob  Stearns 
N  and  the  squad,"  with  the  comrades  of  the  camp. 
She  had  nothing  in  common  with  these  well- 
bred,  conventional  young  ladies  ;  their  conversa- 
tion was  to  her  an  unknown  tongue.  She  had, 
however,  the  quick  perception  of  a  savage,  and 
felt  that  she  was  being  scrutinized,  and  criticised, 
and  judged.  Her  refuge  was  her  pride,  her 
shield  her  dogged  will ;  so  they  thought  her 
cold  and  haughty,  when  she  was  only  shy  and 
sorrow- stricken  with  a  terrible  homesickness, 
with  a  craving  for  the  free,  glad  life  she  had  left. 
Day  after  day  some  ne^v  lesson  was  learned 
from  human  books.  The  shams  and  deceits  of 
this  little  world  of  school  were  transparent  to 
the  inexperienced  but  truthful  child.  She  had 
a  boy' s  respect  for  truth,  a  boy' s  scorn  of  a  lie  ; 
she  could  not  understand  those  feminine  twists 
of  reasoning  that  accepted  as  eminently  proper 
the  polite  deceptions  of  society.  So  out  of  her 
pride  and  her  shyness  Rue  built  up  a  w^all  of 
separation  that  was  also  a  wall  of  defence.     She 


8G8  THE  31i)DERN  II AGAR. 

had  been  forced  by  her  obedience  to  her  father 
to  give  up  the  ways  of  life  that  delighted  her. 
She  would  not  be  forced  to  adopt  other  ways 
that  were  distasteful,  that  were  utterly  rejoug- 
nant  to  her.  IMoreover,  she  knew  her  fatlier 
would  forgive  lier  even  should  she  outrage  the 
decorous  dignity  of  varnished  respectability  with 
a  wild  protest  against  its  shams. 

Altogether  this  school  was  an  evil  in  Rue's 
life.  The  fault  was  partly  that  she  so  antago- 
nized her  surroundings  that  she  failed  to  see 
the  good  that  modestly  retired  before  the  bar- 
riers she  had  built.  The  failure  was  partly 
her  fault ;  it  was  also  her  misfortune.  It  supple- 
mented all  the  evil  of  her  early  training  with  a 
greater  evil — it  made  her  distrustful  of  culture, 
of  refinement ;  honesty  must  have  a  rugged  ex- 
terior or  it  could  not  be  honesty.  To  self-will 
and 'self -assertion,  grown  out  of  tlie  old  habit  of 
command,  was  now  added  indifference  to  opin- 
ion, contempt  of  judgment,  and  utter  scorn  for 
the  rules  and  conventionalities  of  society.  She 
had  so  confounded  the  true  and  the  false  with 
this  absurd  classification,  which  recognized  only 
extremes,  that  but  for  her  father  and  her  faith 
in  him  her  life  would  have  set  itself  in  fruitless 


*'KINO  STANr  369 

opposition  to  all  order,  to  all  law.  Her  belief 
in  her  father  was  the  anchor  that  held  through 
it  all. 

Three  years  had  passed  when  one  morning 
Kue  was  sent  for  to  the  parlor.  Her  father  was 
there,  but  aged  and  broken,  his  hair  silvered; 
the  strong  man  was  bent  vvitli  the  burden  of  life. 
He  pressed  his  daughter  to  his  heart,  and  then 
put  in  her  arms  a  delicate  little  girl  clad  in 
mourning. 

"  Her  mother  is  dead.  Rue,  and  I  brought  her 
to  you.  When  I  die  she  will  have  nothing,  no 
one  to  look  to  but  you.  I  know  I  can  trust  her 
with  you,  my  daughter." 

*'She  is  your  child,  she  is  my  sister;  she  is 
the  Benjamin  of  our  house.  On  my  faith  as 
your  daughter,  on  my  honor  as  my  mother's 
child,  I  promise  you  to  prefer  her  happiness  to 
my  o\Yn.  If  I  ever  fail  in  this,  or  swerve  from 
it  a  hair's-breadth,  may  God  desert  me  in  my 
need  1  ''  . 


The  Modern  Hagar, 


VOLUME   II. 


BOOK  SECOND-PAET  SECOND, 

CONTINUED. 


CHAPTER   XXY. 

"  Let  what  is  broken  so  remain : 
The  gods  are  hard  to  reconcile." 

THE  gathering  in  the  rotunda  was  soon  broken. 
The  yachting  party  accepted  Mrs.  Hartley's 
invitation  to  an  informal   dinner ;    so  did 
Grandison  and  Horry. 

Carson's  refusal  was  a  courteous  but  inflexible 
excuse.  He  was  ''to  meet  the  Leszinkskys,  who 
were  coming  from  Philadelphia  in  the  evening 
train,  and  go  on  with  them  to  'The  Cedars.'  " 
Roane  also  declined  the   dinner,    but    said    he 


4  THE  3I0DERN  HAGAR. 

would  come  later  after  seeing  the  Leszinkskys 
and  Carson  off  for  Riclimond. 

At  tlie  door  of  the  Senate  gallery  Carson  took 
leave  of  Molly  and  her  mother. 

Our  ''lady  of  the  hill"  had  grown  more  gra- 
cious. The  inevitable  son-in-law,  after  being  re- 
ceived as  a  disagreeable  fact,  was  finally  taken 
into  favor.     Carson  asked  : 

"Then  I  am  to  tell  Leszinksky  you  will  cer- 
tainly come  to  '  The  Cedars  '  ?  One  Aveek  from 
to-day  we  shall  be  waiting  at  the  station  for  the 
morning  train." 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  "One  week  from  to-mor- 
row. Carisbrooke  will  not  be  with  us  until 
then,  and  I  have  had  my  lesson.  One  railroad 
accident  has  taught  me  to  wait  Carisbrooke'S 
pleasure." 

Carson.  "If  you  will  permit  me  I  will  be  glad 
to  come  for  you." 

Mrs.  Carishroolce.  "  Thank  you,  no.  We  will 
not  supersede  Carisbrooke  just  yet."  Relent- 
ing, she  added  with  a  smile:  "You  will  come 
on  duty  later."  Then  she  and  Molly  gave  mes- 
sages for  the  Leszinkskys,  and  adieux  were  said. 

Walking  down  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  Roane 
asked  abruptly  : 


''KING  STAN:'  5 

"Carson,  what  has  Hartley  done?  You  will 
not  even  visit  the  Carisbrookes  at  his  house  ; 
and  I  know  Leszinksky  will  not  ]Dermit  Miss 
Rue  to  accept  any  of  her  cousin's  invita- 
tions.'- 

''I  do  not  know  positively  that  he  has  done 
anything  ;  and  Leszinksky  always  insists  that  I 
shall  not  speak  my  suspicion.  But  I  do  not 
mind  telling  you,  Roane,  that  I  think  him  an 
infernal  scoundrel." 

"Grandison  told  me  you  had  some  difficulty 
with  him  in  Cincinnati  in  ^5Q.^^ 

Carson's  face  had  grown  stern  and  set.  He 
was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  said : 

''You  remember  the  note  we  found  in  that 
dead  man's  pocket  at  Bouie's  Hill  ?  " 

"•  Yes  ;  and  that  you  thought  it  proved  the  at- 
tack to  be  something  more  than  a  mere  Indian 
border  feud." 

"  I  believe  yet  that  it  was.  Mrs.  Leszinksky— 
Rue's  mother— offended  Hartley  mortally  at  the 
time  of  that  affair  of  the  quadroon.  You  remem- 
ber the  story  ;  you  must  have  seen  the  woman  at 
Doctor  Carisbrooke's." 

"Yes.  Grandison  told  me  something  of  her 
history.     Hartley  sold  her  to  a  negro-trader  in 


6  THE  MODERN  II AGAR. 

Baltimore,  who  took  her  to  Mississij)pi.  She  ran 
away,  was  insane  or  something,  and  Hartley  re- 
paid the  Mississippian  and  freed  her." 

*^  Are  you  sure  Hartley  had  sold  her?  " 

''Yes;  I  was  in  Grandison's  office  when  the 
woman  came  there  with  Dr.  Carisbrooke,  Les- 
zinksky,  and  Horry.     Hartley  met  them  tliere." 

*'Stan  never  told  me  of  that.  He  knew  I 
wonld  regard  it  as  additional  proof  of  Hartley's 
guilt — a  fresh  certificate  of  character.  Why,  Mrs. 
Leszinksky  sold  the  woman  to  him  that  he  might 
free  her.  She  had  his  written  promise  to  free 
her  and  her  child — his  child,  the  infernal  hound  ! 
I  am  more  than  ever  sorry  I  took  my  hands  oif 
his  throat  in  Cincinnati." 

''But  about  Bouie's  Hill  ?" 

"  I  feel  morally  sure  he  was  the  plotter  of  that 
villany." 

"Carson,  isn't  that  pure  prejudice?  What 
would  he  gain  by  that?" 

"His  wife  would  gain  the  Cartaret  estate." 

"She  is  the  last  woman  in  the  world  who 
would  care  for  such  gain." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  her,  but  of  Hartley.  I 
have  no  doubt  of  his  guilt,  nor  of  her  truth  and 
goodness.      I  know   the  Carisbrookes  love   her, 


''KINO  STAN/'  7 

and  I  know  that  Stan  esteems  her  highly ;  that 
he  is  sorry  Kue  cannot  know  her  cousin  more  in- 
timately. But  his  very  estrangement  from  the 
Hartleys  proves  that  he  must  believe  ill  of  Hart- 
ley, although,  to  keep  the  peace,  he  meddled  in 
my  quarrel  in  Cincinnati  and  stopped  a  duel." 

"  I  heard  there  was  a  difficulty,  but  I  did  not 
hear  of  any  duel." 

"  If  it  had  come  to  extremes  I  would  have  told 
you— would  have  called  on  you  as  a  friend,  for 
Leszinksky  would  have  refused  to  be  a  second  in 
a  duel.  Hartley  affected  high  moral  ground  and 
would  not  fight.  He  was  peaceful  under  insult  ; 
but  I  am  not  fool  enough  to  believe  that  he  for- 
gets." 

*' How  did  it  happen?" 

''I  had  left  Leszinksky  at  the  Carisbrookes' 
and  gone  with  my  son  to  Oxford.  Some  package 
of  my  boy' s  was  missing,  and  when  I  returned  to 
Cincinnati  I  went  to  the  Burnet  to  hunt  up  the 
luggage.  In  the  hall  I  saw  Hartley.  He  was 
standing  in  the  door  of  one  of  the  imvate  rooms 
on  Vine  Street.  I  do  not  know  just  how  it 
was — for  I  was  conscious  of  neither  thought  nor 
action — ^but  I  had  him  by  the  throat,  and  I  think 
most  probably  I  should  have  for  ever  stopped 


3  THE  MODERN  HAG  A II. 

Ms  breathing,  when  Leszinksky  and  Carisbrooke 
interfered.  It  was  lucky  for  Hartley  that  it  was 
Leszinksky.  I  would  liave  made  short  work  of  it 
with  any  one  else  that  had  come  between  me  and 
the  scoundrel.  But  that  one-armed  old  comrade ! 
What  could  I  do  ?  I  should  have  liad  to  let  go 
if  it  had  been  the  devil  himself  I  had  by  the 
throat.  Not  that  the  devil  isn't  a  dashed  sight 
better  fellow  than  that  mean  wlielj^,  v/hose  dirty 
work  and  spotted  little  soul  he  must  scorn." 

"It  did  not  end  there?" 

"Hartley  would  have  been  willing  that  it 
should.  A  crowd  gathered  —  no  matter  how 
quiet  or  out  of  the  way  a  place  is,  it's  wonder- 
ful how  quick  a  crowd  will  gather  if  there's  a 
knock-down — but  before  we  separated  I  said  a 
few  words  that  a  co\vard  wonld  hardly  fail  to 
resent,  and  I  made  him  understand  I  would  wait 
to  hear  from  him.  I  did  wait — three  whole  days. 
Then  I  went  to  the  Burnet  House  and  waited, 
Leszinksky  and  Dr.  Carisbrooke  all  the  time  try- 
ing to  patch  lip  the  difficulty  and  urging  that  I 
was  to  blame,  that  I  knew  of  no  cause  of  quar- 
rel. As  if  a  man  coukl  not  sometimes  scent  a 
cause  in  the  very  fact  that  hatred  seems  cause- 
less.    At  last  I  promised  Leszinksky  that  if  I 


*'KINa  STANr  9 

coLilcl  see  Hartley  I  would  say  all  I  liad  to  say 
in  Dr.  Carisbrooke' s  presence,  and  tlien,  unless 
Hartley  wished  to  nglit,  I  would  leave  town.  So 
it  was  settled." 

"And  you  told  Mm  r' 

"Of  the  affair  at  Bouie's  Hill  and  my  belief . 
Of  course  he  protested  his  innocence.  I  told 
him  I  would  insure  the  future  in  just  one  way : 
that  if  Rue  died  by  any  accident,  any  violence- 
no  matter  what  that  accident  or  violence  might 
seem— I  would  kill  him  like  a  dog,  if  I  had  to 
search  the  v/orld  to  find  him.  Since  then  I  have 
felt  easy  about  Rue.  I  do  not  think  the  scoun- 
drel will  hire  more  murderers  for  her  while  I 
live." 

"  What  did  he  say  afterward  ?" 

"Nothing.  He  looked  like  a  man  in  an  ague 
when  we  left  him." 

"  And  Leszinksky— does  he  know  ? " 

"He  only  knows  that  I  accused  Hartley  of 
that  attack  and  that  Hartley  pleaded  not  guilty. 
Neither  Carisbrooke  nor  I  told  him  of  the  way  I 
took  to  insure  Rue's  life.  But  I  can  see  that,  in 
'  spite  of  his  fear  of  being  unjust,  '  King  Stan ' 
distrusts  Hartley  yet.  And  there  is  another 
thing  I  suspect —Hartley  has  ill-treated  his  wife. 


10  THE  MODERN  H AGAR. 

Dr.  Carisbrooke  hinted  as  mucli.  He  detests 
Hartley,  but  lie  lias  told  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  no- 
thing. He  makes  a  sacrifice  of  his  own  feeling, 
and  permits  his  wife  and  daughter  to  visit  Mrs. 
Hartley.  He  told  me  that  was  at  '  King  Stan's' 
instance,  adding  that  Kate' s  life  was  so  unhappy 
that  we  must  all  think  of  her.  You  know  how  a 
woman's  unhappiness  would  touch  Leszinksky. 
Well,  if  you  had  know^n  Mrs.  Leszinksky — I 
mean  Rue' s  mother  —  you  w^ould  understand 
what  his  sympathy  would  be  with  her  cousin's 
unhappiness." 

Roane  was  silent;  he  asked  no  further  ques- 
tion, but  there  was  a  flash  of  color  across  the 
sun-browned  face  that  contrasted  strangely  with 
tlie  frowning  brow  and  the  set  look  of  the  firm 
mouth.  When  Roane  parted  with  Carson  and 
the  Leszinkskys,  after  promising  to  come  to 
''The  Cedars"  with  the  Carisbrookes,  he  w^ent 
to  his  rooms.  An  hour  later  he  entered  Mrs. 
Hartley's  drawing-room.  Dazzled  by  the  light, 
charmed  by  the  sound,  he  stopped  in  the  door- 
way to  listen  to  a  fresh,  sweet  young  voice  w^liich 
seemed  to  lead  a  chorus  of  w^histling  birds.  The 
very  air  was  vibrant  with  the  melody  of  summer 
woods.      Mrs.    Carisbrooke  motioned  him  to  a 


''KING  stan:'  11 

place  beside  her.  Then  he  saw  Molly  at  the 
piano  playing  an  accompaniment  to  Miss  Hil- 
ton's song  : 

"  A  robin  whistled  his  dream  to  me — 
Yesterday,  yesterday ; 
He  whistled  and  sang  his  dream  to  me — 

Tra  la  la  la ! 
Whistled  and  san^  till  the  wild  wood  rang 
With  the  echoing  clang 
Of  his  roundelay. 

"  A  bluebell  rang  its  sweet  chime  for  me — 

Yesterday,  yesterday; 
Tremblingly  rang  its  sweet  chime  for  me — 

Tra  la  la  la ! 
Tremblingly  rang  what  the  robin  sang 

In  the  carolling  clang 

Of  his  roundelay. 

*'  A  wild  rose  blushed  and  whispered  to  me — 
Yesterday,  yesterday ; 
Whispered  and  blushed  its  secret  to  me — 

Tra  la  la  la! 
Whispered  and  blushed  till  the  daisy  flushed 
And  a  zephyr  hushed 
At  the  roundelay. 

"  What  was  the  secret  the  flowers  told  me — 
Yesterday,  yesterday  ? 
The  secret  the  bird  whistled  to  me — 
Tra  la  la  la! 


12  TEE  MOIJEIIX  EAGAR. 

Flowers  and  bird?    Oh!  the  wild  wind  heard 
Every  word,  every  word 
Of  that  roundelay." 

The  mocking  laiigli  of  the  wandering  zephyr, 
the  whistle  of  the  robin,  tilled  the  room  with 
fairy  music.  And  when  the  singer  turned  to 
bow  her  acknowledgment  of  the  enthusiastic 
plaudits  Roane  thought,  ^'Titania's  self  could 
not  have  been  more  beautiful."  Even  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke's  light  touch  of  his  arm  seemed  a  rough 
awakening,  a  rude  recall  from  the  court  of  Obe- 
ron. 

'*You  saw  the  Leszinkskys  ? " 

^'  Yes  ;  and  i)romised  to  go  with  you  and  Miss 
Molly  to  '  The  Cedars  '  next  week.'' 

Horry,  standing  near  them,  resumed  a  political 
argument  which  the  song  had  interrupted.  He 
ajDpealed  to  Roane  to  settle  a  disputed  i^oint  in 
the  early  history  of  the  tariff.  This  appeal  drew 
Roane  and  also  Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  whose  educa- 
tion and  training  had  been  solid  and  thorough, 
into  the  discussion.  It  was  almost  impossible 
for  man  or  woman  to  avoid  these  vexed  and  vex- 
ing questions  that  week  in  Washington.  The 
patriots  and  the  wise  statesmen — I  fear  there 
were  })ut  few^  of  either — touched  the  fever  i^ulse 


''KING  STAN:'  13 

of  the  nation  with  awe  at  its  approaching  disso- 
lution. But  their  reticence  was  not  copied  by 
the  general  public. 

The  men  with  least  brains  were  the  loudest 
brawlers ;  and  women  who  could  not  under- 
standingly  have  emphasized  the  false  prefatory 
sentence  in  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
now  ruffled  their  flounces  at  toucli  of  each  grave 
question,  and  referred  to  the  Constitution  as 
they  expounded  the  rights  and  duties  of  States 
with  the  same  easy,  graceful,  imj^ertinent  flip- 
pancy with  which  they  would  have  discussed  a 
character  or  given  a  critical  summary  of  the  last 
new  novel. 

Horry  had  found  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel 
in  an  enthusiastic  disciple  of  the  new  Republican 
party,  which  had  swept  the  North  in  the  elec- 
tions-of  '54  and  ^^5,  and  which  now  presented  a 
solid  front  to  a  divided  Democracy.  From  op- 
posite points  of  view  the  foemen  were  both 
bitter  revolutionists. 

Horry.  "The  tariff  of  '33  was  a  Machiavelian 
compromise  to  which  the  Korth  never  intended 
to  adhere.  This  was  proved  in  '42  when  duties 
on  manufactures  were  advanced.  Since  then 
the  fiscal  system  of  the  nation  has  been  persis- 


14  THE  MODERN  BAG  AH. 

tently  protective,  which  is  an  unjust  discrimina- 
tion against  the  agricultural  States,  whose  pro- 
ductions are  the  basis  of  all  foreign  commerce. 
The  Union  is  an  incubus  upon  the  West  and  the 
South.  It  is  time  it  was  broken.  For  one  I  am 
glad  Ave  are  about  to  bury  the  foul  corpse." 

Rejpuhlican.  "And  I,  for  different  reasons, 
am  glad  to  '  let  the  Union  slide '  ;  I  agree  with 
Banks  there.  I  am  ready  for  extremes.  Dis- 
solve the  Union,  bring  on  civil  war — you  can 
neither  foil  nor  intimidate  us ;  our  purpose  is 
as  fixed  as  the  eternal  pillars  of  heaven.  Three- 
quarters  of  a  century  hence,  if  the  South  retains 
slavery,  she  A^dll  be  to  the  North  what  Poland 
is  to  Eussia,  Cuba  to  Spain,  and  Ireland  to  Eng- 
land." 

Horry.  "The  glittering  i^hrases  of  abolition 
prophecy  are  philanthropical  bank-bills  which 
are  discounted  by  the  utterers.  Plain  common 
sense  is  hard  cash  ;  it  has  a  fixed  value  and  is 
always  current.  The  North  imported  the  negro, 
grew  rich  from  the  slave-trade,  and  then  got  rid 
of  its  unprofitable  property  without  loss.  It  has 
never  offered  the  South  emancipation  with  com- 
pensation.    Try  that." 

Republican.   "The   idea   is  preposterous,   the 


''KING  STAN."  15 

suggestion  criminal.  What !  feed  the  curs  of 
slavery  to  make  them  rich  at  our  expense?" 

Horry.  ''They  enriched  you." 

BepubUcan.  "  They  have  disgraced  us  until  we 
blush  to  confess  we  are  Americans.  The  Union 
is  a  concession  on  the  part  of  the  North.  We, 
through  a  sentimental  weakness,  have  tolerated 
the  South  in  the  Union  which  they  now  threaten. 
Let  them  break  that  Union.  We  lose  nothing, 
they  will  lose  everything.  The  association  with, 
the  protection  of,  the  North  has  been  their  palla- 
dium. We  will  gladly  withdraw  our  protection. 
But  they  are  only  talking  like  braggarts  ;  they 
could  not  be  kicked  out  of  the  Union." 

Roane.  "  If  your  party  wins  you  will  find  that 
they  will  go  ;  and  the  North  will  resist  their 
going.  Yankee  reasoning  is  a  thing  of  the 
ledger  ;  its  philanthropy  is  put  on  and  off  with  its 
Sunday  clothes,  but  the  account-book  is  carried 
in  the  week-day  pocket.  Extremists  may  drive 
us  to  leave,  but  the  same  extremists  will  try  to 
prevent  our  leaving.  The  cohorts  of  Pharaoh 
will  follow  us  to  bring  us  back  into  Egypt.  But 
there  is  the  Red  Sea." 

And  he  pointed  to  the  Potomac.  His  impres- 
sive manner  commanded  attention  and  silence. 


16  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

From  tlie  open  window  they  saw  the  broad  river, 
and  over  on  the  heights  lights  were  gleaming 
from  behind  the  shadowy  columns  of  the  house 
at  Arlington. 

The  New-Yorkers  were  about  to  leave,  and 
the  Northern  advocate  bowed  to  his  antacronists 
and  went  to  make  his  adieux  to  his  host  and 
hostess. 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  looking  at  Horry  and  Roane, 
said:    ''It  is  coming." 

Horry.  ' '  What  is  coming  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  CarishrooTie.  "The  end  of  all  things. 
You  will  get  your  own  way,  you  disunionists 
of  the  North  and  the  South.  You  pull  from 
opposite  extremes,  but  the  break  and  the  suf- 
fering is  to  affect  the  people  who  stand  between. 
My  house  will  surely  fall  in  the  general  wreck." 

Roane.  ''You  have  a  chance  yet,  and  a  strong 
one.     The  Democracy  may  win." 

Mrs.  Carishroolte.  "That  is  a  house  divided 
against  itself.  The  last  hope  I  had  died  at 
Charleston."  / 

Roane.  "The  resurrection  of  your  hope  may 
be  there.  If  the  Democracy  should  be  defeated 
South  Carolina  will  lead  us  into  a  new  and  a 
more  homogeneous  confederation." 


''KING  stan:'  17 

Mrs.  CarishrooJce.  "  What  has  South  Carolina 
to  do  with  me  ?     I  am  an  Ohioan." 

Roane,   ''  Before  that  a  Virginian  \  " 

Mrs.  Carishroolie.  ''No;  I  transferred  myself 
and  Virginia  transferred  the  land.  Carisbrooke 
is  thoroughly  de-stated  and  rein-stated.  We 
are  Ohioans.  And  now  we  have  a  Northern  son- 
in-law.  Yon  may  yet  see  your  red-headed  friend 
heading  a  column  to  cross  your  Red  Sea." 

Horry.  "Possibly.  We  recognize  the  fact 
that  a  man's  first  duty  is  to  his  State." 

Mrs.  Carishrooke.  ''I  recognize  the  fact  that 
the  times  are  out  of  joint.  0  cursed  spite,  there's 
not  a  man  alive  can  set  'em  right!— at  least 
honest  men  cannot  and  the  politicians  will  not. 
The  wise  men  are  all  dead,  and  V^isdom  goes 
a-mourning  in  petticoats." 

Horry.  ''She  has  Folly  in  the  same  dress  to 
keep  her  in  countenance.  I  heard  her  to-day 
talking  like  Bellona." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  "  Yes  ;  there  are  a  few  asses 
who  do  not  wear  the  regulation  dress.  But 
Molly  comes  with  '  Beauty '  to  say  '  good- 
night.' " 

Molly  was  going  Avith  the  yachting  party  for 
the  next  day's  expedition  to  Mount  Vernon. 


CHAPTER   XXYI. 

"  Love  in  a  hut,  with  tratcr  and  a  crust, 
Is — Lore  forgive  us  ! — cinders,  ashes,  dust : 
Love  in  a  palace  is  perhaps  at  last 
More  grievous  torment  than  a  hermit's  fast — 
That  is  a  doubtful  tale  from  fairj  land, 
Hard  for  the  non-elect  to  understand." 

WHEN  Molly  returned  from  Mount  Yernon 
Miss  Hilton  came  with  her  and  Mrs. 
Carta  ret.  Before  the  Carisbrookes  left 
Washington  Mai  Hilton  was  a  recognized  re- 
lative of  the  Hartleys.  The  Hartleys'  hand- 
some young  kinsman  had  also  taken  an  assured 
place  in  the  family.  The  old  money-gatherer, 
from  whom  Captain  Hartley  had  inherited  mil- 
lions, had  left  his  sister's  grandson  three  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  to  which  were  attached 
two  conditions :  he  would  forfeit  the  inheri- 
tance if  he  married  a  wife  whose  fortune  did  not 
equal  his  own  or  if  lie  remained  unmarried  at 
thirty-five  years  of  age.  The  forfeited  estate 
would  then  revert  to  Simon  Hartley's  heirs-at- 
law,  Mrs.  Cartaret  and  her  brother.  This  con- 
is 


''KING   STAN:'  19 

tingent  bequest  was  the  only  one  the  old  man 
made  to  Mrs.  Cartaret.  He  had  given  her  shelter 
after  George  Hilton's  death,  but  she  had  been  so 
unfortunate  in  that  marriage  that  he  resented  her 
misfortune  as  a  personal  injury.  By  covert 
bints  and  sneering  allusions  to  faults  through 
which  she  had  suffered  he  had  made  her  de- 
pendent position  intolerable. 

The  marriage  with  Judge  Cartaret  had  changed 
all  that.  It  was  in  every  respect  a  desirable  alli- 
ance. It  reinstated  his  niece  in  the  opinion  of 
the  millionaire,  as  it  did  in  the  good  things  of  this 
world.  It  gave  her  honors,  dignities,  and  troops 
of  friends.  It  would  also  have  given  her  a  large 
share  in  the  fortuna  of  her  now  proudly-attach- 
ed uncle  but  for  his  sudden  death — a  death 
that  insured  Hartley  the  inheritance.  For  the 
only  will  that  could  be  found  was  the  will  Simon 
Hartley  had  made  the  week  after  the  news  came 
of  that  disaster  at  sea  and  while  his  niece  was 
still  the  widow  of  George  Hilton. 

Mrs.  Cartaret  was  a  Avoman  of  fierce  temjDer 
and  many  faults,  but  she  was  capable  of  the 
most  intense  and  devoted  attachments.  She  had 
married  George  Hilton  in  the  face  of  her  uncle's 
threats  and  her  brother's   remonstrance.       She 


20  THE  MODERN  HAG  AH. 

had  clung  to  him  through  disgrace,  and  after  his 
death  had  loyally  defended  his  memory.  Neither 
uncle  nor  brother,  although  both  were  given  to 
sneer  and  taunt,  had  ever  dared  utter  unveiled 
condemnation  of  the  dead.  Even  implied  re- 
proach to  her  grief  had  been  met  with  stormy 
outbreaks  of  indignant  resentment. 

She  had  always  been  devoted  to  her  brother. 
They  were  left  orphans  at  an  early  age,  and  she 
was  the  elder.  But  her  attachment  to  her  brother 
had  a  hard  wrench  that  Christmas  at  Oakhill 
when  the  news  of  Tom  Cartaret's  death  was  so 
maladroitly  told  to  Judge  Cartaret.  From  that 
moment  she  was  tortured  by  susi^icions  which 
she  vainly  tried  to  banish.  Her  affection  for 
Kate  grew  stronger,  and  would  have  been  de- 
veloped into  an  antagonism  to  her  brother  but 
for  the  hold  he  had  upon  her  through  her  affec- 
tion for  the  child  that  she  had  adopted  as  a  re- 
lative. 

Mai's  beauty  and  helplessness  had  first  attract- 
ed Mrs.  Cartaret.  Lucy's  unmerited  suffering 
had  brought  the  child  near  to  her  in  her  lAty  for 
its  mother.  She  had  tried  to  trace  Lucy  after 
her  disappearance,  and  then  learned  the  story  of 
the  sale  of  the  woman  in  Baltimore.     Mrs.  Carta- 


"KIXG  STA^-."  21 

ret  had  seen  the  trader  who  bought  Lucy,  and 
heard  of  her  suffering  on  the  route  to  New  Or- 
leans, of  her  illness  and  her  long  stay  in  the  hos- 
pital, of  her  recovery  from  that  illness,  which  left 
her  a  harmless  monomaniac — claiming  all  suffer- 
ing children  as  her  own  (her  child  was  ill  when 
it  was  taken  from  her)  and  nursing  them  with 
tireless  devotion — of  her  sale  to  a  planter  near 
Yicksburg,  and  her  sudden  disapiDearance.  Fur- 
ther than  that  all  trace  was  lost. 

Mrs.  Cartaret,  believing  that  Lucy  had  drowned 
herself  (she  was  last  seen  standing  on  the  river 
bank),  redoubled  her  care  for  the  child  through 
pity  for  the  dead  mother. 

Hartley  had  grown  more  openly  considerate  of 
his  daughter  because  of  his  belief  that  her  mo- 
ther was  dead.  Not  that  he  had  ever  thought  to 
pity  her  mother ;  he  simply  regarded  her  as  an 
obstruction,  now  happily  removed. 

The  surname  Mrs.  Cartaret  had  given  Mai  and 
her  appearance  freed  the  child  from  apparent 
taint  of  mixed  blood.  Mrs.  Cartaret' s  ward,  as 
George  Hilton's  cousin,  was  alone  in  the  world. 
The  world  only  seeks  or  acknowledges  a  relation- 
ship when  it  is  profitable  or  creditable.  And 
this  name  was  stained  by  disgrace.     Besides,  the 


22  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

child  had  no  fortune.  She  was  only  Mrs.  Carta- 
ret'  s  ward  and  pensioner. 

To  one  guilty  soul  she  was  a  constant  threat 
and  a  constant  promise.  Her  father  really  loved 
Mai ;  she  was  the  first  human  being  he  had  ever 
really  loved.  He  had  had  a  selfish  liking  for 
his  sister  ;  she  had  alwa}- s  smoothed  the  difficult 
places  for  him  as  far  as  she  could.  Careless  of 
her  own  interests,  after  George  Hilton's  death 
she  had  never  forgotten  her  brother's;  she  had 
concealed  from  her  uncle,  at  cost  to  herself,  her 
brother's  shortcomings.  She  had  stinted  herself 
out  of  the  very  moderate  income  the  old  miser 
gave  her,  to  assist  her  biother.  The  old  man  was 
watchful  and  suspicious  ;  he  observed  all  her  ex- 
penditures, and  when  she  could  not,  or  would 
not,  explain  this  default  in  her  income  he  ex- 
plained it  to  himself  in  a  manner  not  creditable 
to  her.  And  to  shield  her  brother  she  endured 
unjust  and  harsh  judgment.  But  she  did  not 
bear  it  patiently,  and  that  impatience  counted 
against  her  and  for  her  brother. 

In  Captain  Hartley's  rare  visits  uncle  and 
nephew  had  neither  time  nor  occasion  for  differ- 
ence. The  old  man's  family  pride  and  feeling, 
so  potent  against  his  niece,  were  engaged  in  Cap- 


''KING  STAN."  23 

tain  Hartley's  behalf.  And  then,  thanks  to  his 
sister's  timely  aid,  the  nephew  never  asked  or 
hinted  any  need  of  money.  In  fact,  he  had  once 
refused  a  proffered  loan  ;  that  refusal  had  much 
to  do  with  making  him  his  uncle's  heir.  His 
sister  asked  too  often.  And  since  George  Hil- 
ton' s  death  her  uncle  could  not  understand  such 
requests.  They  were  complied  with,  but  in  a  re- 
duced measure.  The  sum  asked  for  was  rarely 
given,  but  caution  against  extravagance  was  not 
withheld  ;  in  that  the  miser  was  prodigal.  And 
so  Mrs.  Cartaret  secured  the  Hartley  fortune  for 
her  brother. 

To  go  back  to  Hartley  and  his  daughter.  His 
love  for  her  was  daily  growing  stronger.  It 
was  not  yet  sufficiently  unselfish  to  be  purify- 
ing, but  it  made  him  cautious.  He  resolved  to 
risk  nothing  in  the  future.  Carson  was  an  ar- 
gument, and  a  weighty  one,  in  the  affair  of  the 
Cartaret  estate,  but  Mai  was  also  in  his  mind. 
To  risk  himself  was  to  risk  Mai's  interest, 
and  that  he  would  not  risk.  He  was  self- 
ish for  his  child,  and  through  that  he  put  re- 
straint on  revenge  and  cupidity  and  was  pru- 
dent. Prudence  made  him  fearful.  In  the  pur- 
suit of  the  plan  that  had  so  long  led  him  into 


34  THE  MODER]^  HAQAR, 

criminal  paths  he  had  acquired  a  certain  reck- 
lessness which  is,  indeed,  the  sole  element  in  tlie 
daring  of  crime.  But  now  there  was  nothing  to 
dare,  and  so  there  was  everything  to  fear.  Inac- 
tion forced  him  to  look  backward ;  and  looking 
backward,  he  saw  where  concealments  which  he 
had  fancied  secure  either  were  or  were  likel}^  to 
be  uncovered. 

Carson's  susiDicion  was  the  sword  of  Damocles, 
and  Carson's  threat  the  hair  by  which  it  was  sus- 
pended. For  Hartley  knew  that  the  threat  was 
retrospective.  If  the  suspicion  of  tlie  resolute 
soldier  was  confirmed  beyond  shadow  of  doubt — 
and  it  might  be — Carson  would  be  quick  to  settle 
that  past  account.  In  the  mention  of  it  only 
Eue's  name  had  been  used,  but  there  were  two 
ghostly  shadows  behind  Rue.  Let  suspicion 
become  certainty,  then  Mrs.  Carson  and  Willy 
would  be  avenged. 

Cursing  himself  for  having  set  an  enemy  upon 
his  track.  Hartley  would  sometimes  think  how 
much  better  he  had  managed  with  the  Cartarets- 
But  it  was  only  sometimes  that  he  thought  of 
them.  There  was  no  danger  now  from  the  Car- 
tarets ;  and,  now  that  he  had  grown  familiar 
with  crime,   danger  would  have  to  rouse  con- 


"KING  STAN."  25 

science  from  its  lethargy  before  it  would  listen 
to  either  remorse  or  repentance. 

The  accident  to  Tom  Cartaret,  the  shock  that 
killed  Judge  Cartaret,  rarely  disturbed  Hartley's 
recollection— never  unless  his  wife  gave  him  fresh 
cause  of  offence.  Then,  in  a  sort  of  involuntary 
mechanical  reckoning,  he  would  count  them  as 
two  pieces  off  the  board  that  might  have  lost  him 
the  game  he  so  coveted.  As  to  Kate  herself,  she 
had  fallen  into  a  trap  that  he  had  set.  He  had 
paid  some  debts  of  Tom's — debts  of  honor— had 
settled  a  mortgage  that  burdened  Belleview,  had 
paid  his  sister's  marriage  settlement,  and — the 
thing  that  touched  Kate  most  of  all — had  taken 
vq)  a  note  of  Judge  Cartaret' s  w^hich  was  secured 
by  a  chattel  mortgage  that  included  every  negro 
on  the  plantation.  Yery  proudly  Kate  offered  to 
release  the  entire  property  to  him  ;  she  insisted 
that  his  outlay  should  be  repaired.  Then  he  men- 
tioned a  suit  Judge  Cartaret  had  in  the  Supreme 
Court — a  disputed  succession  to  some  property  of 
his  father's  brother,  who  had  resided  in  Alabama 
— which  Hartley  said  he  was  confident  would 
be  decided  in  favor  of  the  Virginian  Cartarets, 
and  which  would  pay  all,  or  nearly  all,  he  had 
advanced  ;    and  he  added   that   if  Kate  would 


26  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

transfer  to  liim  all  future  right  of  inheritance 
through  the  Cartarets  he  would  be  fully  paid. 
The  deed  of  transfer  was  made  and  signed  after 
Kate  insisted  to  the  lawyers  and  the  notary  who 
came  to  witness  the  signature  that  she  under- 
stood fully  the  entire  transaction  and  had  re- 
ceived full  value  for  all  she  signed  away. 

Never  having  counted  the  chances  of  Rue's  in- 
heritance or  of  her  own  succession  to  Colonel 
Tom  Cartaret's  estate,  Kate  did  not  know  that 
she  had  relinquished  to  Captain  Hartley  a  pos- 
sible ownership  of  *'The  Cedars." 

The  arrangement  of  all  these  matters  had 
dragged  through  the  ten  years  since  Judge  Car- 
taref  s  death. 

Hartley  had  very  reluctantly  agreed  to  accept 
the  payment  his  wife  offered,  and  his  sister  firm- 
ly believed,  and  convinced  Kate  of  her  belief, 
that  he  had  behaved  very  generously,  and  had 
finally  accepted  the  transfer  in  order  that 
Belleview  and  tlie  negroes  might  be  secured 
beyond  cavil  to  Kate,  as  her  father's  will  had 
provided. 

In  the  early  si:)ring  the  deed  of  transfer  was 
signed.  From  the  first  moment  there  had  been 
mention  made  of  this  manner  of  settling  the  in- 


"KlXCr   STAX."  27 

debtedness  of  lier  fathers  estate  to  Captain 
Hartley,  Kate  was  anxious  and  insistent  to  have 
it  done.  Knowing  that  her  father  s  will  had  so 
placed  his  estate  that  Hartley  could  have  no  pre- 
sent or  future  interest  in  it,  she  feared  the  long- 
standing debt  would  embarrass  her  at  every 
turn.  And  when,  some  six  weeks  after  the 
deed  of  transfer  had  been  signed,  the  Supreme 
Court  decided  the  "Cartaret  will  case"  in  favor 
of  Judge  Cartaret's  heirs,  Kate  was  delighted  at 
her  release  from  money  obligation  to  the  man 
whose  name  she  bore— the  man  to  whom,  from  a 
forced  sense  of  duty,  she  paid  a  certain  out- 
ward respect,  although  every  additional  year 
convinced  her,  with  fresh  reason,  of  the  impossi- 
bility of  any  real  reconciliation  that  would  bring 
about  their  reunion.  Kate's  isolation,  the  ab- 
sence of  those  homely  but  sweet  domestic  ties 
which  are  so  much  in  the  daily  count  of  happi- 
ness, the  vacancy  in  the  life  where  affection  was 
not  (her  tolerant  regard  for  Mrs.  Cartaret  was 
scarcely  an  affection),  had  left  her  in  that  col- 
lapse of  i)ersonal  interest,  that  absence  of  bal- 
last, in  her  own  life  which  so  surely  drives  a 
weak  woman  downward. 
But  Kate  was  in  no  sense  weak  ;  her  faults  had 


28  THE  MODERN  HAOAK. 

not  that  excuse.  The  hate  that  shut  out  love 
had  found  an  ally  in  her  pride— an  ally  Avhich 
effectually  barred  out  of  her  life  the  idle  caprices 
of  an  unoccupied  heart.  At  any  period  the  life 
of  the  coquette  would  have  been  impossible  to 
her.  She  was  neither  vain,  petty,  nor  untruth- 
ful ;  she  lacked  the  three  essentials  which  make 
the  species.  But  a  hardening  x)rocess  even  more 
fatal  than  the  heartlessness  of  the  coquette  was 
nearly  complete  when  she  met  Leszinksky.  She 
was  slowly  but  surely  losing  that  intangible 
sweetness,  that  aroma  of  goodness,  which  is  as 
perceptible  to  the  moral  sense  as  the  perfume  of 
the  rose  is  to  the  physical  sense.  She  would 
have  always  carried  her  head  erect  in  the  face 
of  all  the  conventional  respectabilities  that  deco- 
rate this  world  and  often  outrage  heaven  ;  but 
she  would  have  died  unrepentant  and  almost 
unconscious  of  her  sin  in  keeping  pride  nnd  hate 
alive  through  an  unforgiven  wrong.  This  petres- 
cence  began  the  moment  she  recognized  the  liv- 
ing original  of  the  pictured  Hagar  under  the 
vine-covered  arbor  at  Oakliill.  It  half  melted 
in  the  rays  of  her  child's  eyes  ;  but  those  rays 
were  too  soon  withdrawn.  Then  Tom's  death 
and  her  father's  chilled  all  the  warmth  out  of 


^^KING  STAN.''  29 

life.     But  the  warmth  came  again  at  the  toucli 
of  a  wounded  bird. 

The  lowliest  messenger,  if  he  so  touches  the 
heart  that  it  throbs  in  its  casing  of  clay  with  a 
divine  pity  for  the  suffering  of  any  eartli-born 
creature,  has  brought  the  promethean  fire  which 
proves  him  a  messenger  of  the  gods. 

A  new  life  commenced  for  Kate  from  that  day. 
Yet  the  sacred  fire  was  but  a  spark,  and  even 
with  the  kindling  of  the  spark  came  a  new 
danger.  Kate  had  loved  so  little,  now  she 
might  love  too  much.  And  she  did  love  Les- 
zinksky  with  that  perfect,  trustful  love  which  is 
instantly  and  unwittingly  given.  She  was  no 
more  conscious  of  wrong  or  ashamed  in  the  reve- 
lation of  this  feeling  to  him  than  a  child  would 
have  been  ashamed  of  the  expression  of  its  pre- 
ference. She  had  kissed  his  hand  as  a  devotee 
might  kiss  the  hand  of  a  saint.  It  was  love  born 
of  reverence,  and  both  love  and  reverence  were 
strangely  new  guests  in  this  great  heart  which 
had  so  grand  a  capacity  for  loving. 

The  loyal  and  open  expression  of  each  thought 
and  feeling  as  it  was  born  into  consciousness  was 
^vitness  of  Kate's  truth  and  of  her  purity.  Re- 
cognizing her  love,  giving  it  full  expression,  yet 


30  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

saying  that  because  of  that  she  dare  not  accept 
Leszinksky's  offered  protection,  was,  in  an  in- 
verse sense,  the  noblest  expression  of  that  per- 
fect love  which  casteth  out  fear.  Neither  was 
there  the  shyness  •  of  any  shame  in  her  silence 
afterward.  It  w^as  simply  that  she  had  said  all, 
that  she  accepted  nothing.  She  had  neither 
hope  nor  thought  of  his  loving  her.  He  might 
give  her  the  same  pitying,  protecting  care  he  had 
given  the  wounded  bird.  He  would  do  his  best 
for  her,  she  was  sure  of  that — his  best  because  of 
her  need  and  because  of  her  cousin  Margaret. 
Then  she  thought  of  the  wife  who  had  taken  her 
cousin's  i^lace.  Could  there  be  such  capacity  for 
loving  in  the  heart  that  one  might  love  twice  ? 
Yet  in  all  her  thought  of  him  at  that  time  there 
was  absolutely  no  thought  of  herself. 

But  later,  after  she  had  known  Hue — and  with 
what  joy  she  always  remembered  that  she  and 
Rue  were  instantly  friends,  as  well  as  kins- 
women, when  they  met  at  the  Carisbrookes'— Rue 
had  talked  to  her  of  her  mother,  but  had  avoided 
mention  of  her  stepmother's  name.  Then  Kate 
did  think  of  herself.  She  thought  of  the  wife 
who  had  given  up  all  to  marry  him,  and  she 
thought  of  the  delight  of  such  sacrifice.    Through 


''KINO  STANr  31 

that  Kate  learned  tlie  danger  of  her  thought. 
Then  she  resolved  to  keep  love  so  pure  that 
she  would  not  blush  to  tell  it  to  men  and  angels. 
After  the  parting  with  these  newly-found  re- 
latives the  sj)ark  kindled  into  flame,  and  its 
warmth  went  from  the  woman's  heart  into  her 
life.  She  put  her  love  into  the  visible  form  of 
human  sympathy. 

There  was  no  outward  show  or  observance  of 
good  works,  but  day  by  day  the  shadowy  rounds 
of  the  ladder  were  being  lifted  heavenward. 

As  I  said,  Kate  put  her  love  in  her  daily  life. 
She  also  iDut  duty  there.  Yet  under  all  was  a 
subordinate  thought  that  strengthened  and  com- 
forted her.  She  would  never  speak  her  love 
again  to  him,  but  some  time,  in  the  future  out- 
side of  time  and  the  bonds  of  the  flesh,  she 
would  tell  it  all  to  Margaret.  Margaret  would 
understand. 

But,  in  one  of  those  occult  mysteries  of  sense 
and  feeling  that  only  a  woman  or  a  man  with  the 
feminine  intuition  of  a  poet  could  understand, 
the  very  love  and  sense  of  duty  which  ruled 
her  life,  and  not  only  influenced  but  led  her  to 
sacrifice,  ruled  Hartley  out  of  the  sphere  of  her 
own  personality.     She  had  forgiven  him,  but  of 


32  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

necessity  it  must  always  be  a  barren  forgiveness. 
The  marriage- tie  was  eternally  broken.  Kate 
would  make  any  worldly  sacrifice  for  the  man 
who  had  been  her  husband.  In  fact,  she  would 
have  courted  such  sacrifice.  She  would  have  en- 
dured anything  for  his  good — anything  except 
his  presence  in  her  life  as  her  husband.  That 
she  could  not  endure.  The  narrowness  of  the 
circle  that  bound  them  to  the  same  house  made 
this  feeling  more  intense. 

Their  divorce  was  all  the  more  complete  be- 
cause human  law  had  never  pronounced  it.  And 
because  of  the  entirety  of  this  divorce  Kate  grew 
considerate  of  Hartley's  happiness. 

Her  meeting  with  Mai  was  so  purely  unex- 
pected that  she  would  probabl}^  have  failed  in 
the  law  she  had  made  unto  herself  but  for  the 
eyes  so  like  her  child's.  That  likeness  brought  a 
burst  of  feeling.  If  she  Lad  known  she  was  about 
to  meet  Hagar's  child — in  her  thought  she  always 
called  Lucy  "Hagar" — it  would  have  been  diffe- 
rent. She  would  have  been  kind  and  courteous, 
she  would  have  made  the  child  welcome,  for  the 
child's  sake,  for  its  father  s  happiness,  and  as 
some  compensation  for  the  wrong  she  believed 
she  had   brought   upon   Lucy.      But    now    Mai 


^'KINQ  STAN."  33 

would  always  be  personally  dear  to  lier.  Kate 
could  never  go  back  of  tliat  first  greeting.  She 
would  now  always  see  in  Mai  tlie  sister  of  her  child. 

Yet  this  brought  her  no  nearer  Mai's  father. 
If  anything  it  was  another  infinitesimal  wedge 
of  sej^arationr 

All  that  summer  vacation  the  girl  was  with  the 
Hartleys.  They  left  Washington  for  Oakhill— 
after  a  short  visit  which  Kate  made  to  Belleview 
— as  soon  as  that  long,  heated  session  closed. 
Mai  and  Bradnor  were  not  so  much  guests  as 
members  of  the  household  on  the  Hudson. 

Kate  was  trying  to  settle  old  scores  with  her 
conscience  in  her  devotion  to  Mai's  good.  She 
soon  understood  Hartley's  views  as  to  Bradnor, 
and  as  much  as  she  dared,  although  she  hated 
ma.tch-making,  she  furthered  his  wish. 

The  girl's  childlike  expression  of  her  liking  for 
the  handsome  kinsman  made  this  easy  for  Kate. 
The  summer  i)assed  uneventfully  at  Oakhill. 

Mai  went  back  to  school  in  the  fall,  and  Brad- 
nor had  not  spoken.  The  girl  seemed  content. 
Kate  could  see  Hartley's  disappointment.  Then 
she  puzzled  herself  in  a  vain  effort  to  understand 
whether  Bradnor  did  not  care  for  the  girl,  or  were 
prudently  waiting  until  the  time  should  be  more  fit. 


CHAPTER    XXYII. 

"  Others  shall  right  the  wrong- 
Finish  what  I  begin, 
And  all  I  fail  of  win." 

SELECTIOXS  FROM  A  BUNDLE  OF  OLD  LETTEKS. 

{3Irs.  Carisbroolce  to  the  Doctor,  July  5,  1860.) 

*'  TT'OU  will  be  surprised,  O  supreme  chief! 
I  that  your  womenkind  are  still  at  'The 
Cedars.' 

''  Steenie  was  quite  ill  on  Monday.  That  de- 
lay and  'King  Stans'  persuasion  induced  me 
to  telegraph  a  change  of  date  and  an  order  for 
our  letters  to  our  waiting  landlord  at  the  White 
Sulphur. 

"The  letters  were  promptly  forwarded.  So 
I  have  your  Chicago  musings.  I  am  still  angry 
at  your  throwing  us  over  to  go  there. 

"Molly  has  her  present  from  her  Uncle  Rob- 
ert. Did  you  know  of  the  gift  \  A  check  for 
five  thousand  dollars  on  the  Bank  of  Virginia 
— an  over-generous  sum  for  the  purpose.  It  is 
rather  too  much  to  spend  in  wedding  raiment 


''KING  STANr  35 

when  a  girl  marries  a  iDenniless  ^  sojer-man.' 
But  Molly  is  the  child  of  her  father,  and  so 
my  lovely  Lady  Prudence  decided  to  spend  one 
thousand,  and  with  the  balance  make  a  first 
payment  on  the  Avondale  place  which  she  has 
just  bought  from  Horry.  It  is  the  corner  near  us, 
wath  the  three  walnut-trees,  and  Horry  has  been 
very  generous  in  the  matter.  You  know  they 
have  for  a  long  time  jestingly  talked  of  her  in- 
tended purchase.  As  soon  as  she  opened  Eob- 
ert\s  letter,  check  in  hand,  she  turned  to  Horry, 
and  the  bargain  was  concluded  and  the  first  pay- 
ment made.  So  your  daughter  is  chatelaine  of 
'  The  Walnuts.' 

"  Talking  of  chatelaines,  I  have  a  queer  bit  of 
news  to  tell.  The  mistress  of  Belleview  came 
from  Washington  to  her  '  seat  on  the  Chicka- 
hominy  '  to  dispense  gifts  and  justice  before  go- 
ing to  Oakhill  for  the  summer.  We  learned  that 
fact  through  her  neighbors,  the  Shirleys.  They 
dined  here  on  the  1st  and  brought  Miss  Anne 
Esmond's  excuses.  She  and  her  brother  Harry 
Avere  staying  with  Mrs.  Hartley,  who  was  alone 
at  Belleview.  It  was  embarrassing  news  for  '  King 
Stan.' 

"  With  all  his  dislike  or  disapproval  of  Hart- 


36  THE  MODERN  II A  OAR. 

ley — I  do  not  suppose  '  King  Stan '  could  dislike 
even  any  thing  so  little  human  as  Hartley — he 
could  not  be  discourteous  to  his  daughter's  cou- 
sin. After  much  private  pow-wowing  with  our 
admirable  prosj^ective  son-in-law,  and  after  a 
grave  consultation  with  Colonel  Roane — who  I 
could  see  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  was  an 
advocate  of  a  peace-and-propriety  arrangement 
— peace  and  i)ropriety  won  the  day. 

' '  On  Tuesday  Molly  and  I  drove  over  to  Belle- 
view  with  her  high  mightiness  the  '  Princess  of 
the  Cedars.'  Horry  was  our  escort.  Neither 
Leszinksky  nor  Carson  would  put  foot  where  it 
could  be  construed  as  a  visit  of  courtesy  to  Hart- 
ley, and  something  kept  Roane  away.  I  cannot 
just  tell  whether  it  was  dislike  or  over-liking.  Of 
course  you  will  frown  at  this,  but  I  think  he 
does  admire  Kate  and  would  give  scant  measure 
of  mourning  if  Hartley  should  go  to  his  fathers. 
You  see  I  interlard  my  news  with  gossip. 

*' A  twelve-mile  morning  drive  in  old  colonial 
style— a  coach  drawn  by  four  thoroughbreds— over 
Virginian  roads  and  across  the  rough  logs  that 
bridge  Virginian  gullies,  so  tortured  my  back  and 
enraged  my  nerves  that  I  gladly  accepted  Kate' s 
invitation  to  sleep  at  Belle  view,  especially  as  I 


''KING  STAN:'  37 

was  to  be  paid  for  my  comi3laisance — to  my 
si)ine.  My  stay  insured  Kate's  acceptance  of 
Rue's  invitation  to  visit  'The  Cedars.' 

''What  a  ]Duzzle  Rue  is  !  She  can  be,  and  is, 
the  sweetest  and  simplest  of  girls  ;  but  the  maid- 
en of  seventeen  can  just  as  readily  freeze  into  the 
haughtiest  grande  dame  of  the  Leszinksky  line. 
What  a  queen  she  would  have  made  for  Poland 
if  she  had  lived  a  century  sooner  ! 

' '  Warsaw  w^ould  have  worshipped  her  as  a 
goddess.  I  have  never  seen  her  on  one  of  those 
famous  Cartaret  thoroughbreds,  which  she  rides 
so  well  and  fearlessly,  without  thinking  how  she 
would  look  at  the  head  of  the  Polish  legion.  If 
the  Bonaparte  had  known  Rue,  if  she  had  been 
born  the  daughter  and  not  the  great-grand- 
daughter of  old  King  Stanislaus,  in  spite  of 
the  Mohammedan  mother  the  king-maker  would 
have  established  a  modern  Semiramis  in  the  Po- 
lish capital. 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  people  slip  out  of  the 
century  to  which  they  are  akin  !  If  Rue  had  not 
fallen,  in  the  chrysalis  state,  out  of  the  niche  in 
which  slie  belonged,  she  might  have  been  a  Po- 
lish empress  and  conqueror  of  the  Cossacks. 

"  But  to  go  back  to  our  visit  to  Belleview : 


38  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

*' The  Shirleys  were  ill-informed  in  one  parti- 
cular :  Kate  had  not  come  alone  to  the  classic 
banks  of  the  Chickahominy.  She  bad  brought 
'Beauty'  with  her.  The  Beauty  you  did  not 
see,  because  you  failed  to  come  to  Washington. 
You  will  not  tell  me  all  you  know,  but  1  am  sure 
'  Beauty '  is  Captain  Hartley's  daughter— his  and 
Lucy's.  She  has  Hartley's  eyes,  and  there  is 
something  of  Lucy  too.  I  never  made  out  all 
the  likeness  until  I  saw  the  Hoyts  at  church  last 
Sunday. 

*'  You  are  very  wise  and  very  close-mouthed, 
my  master  ;  but  I  am  neither  blind  nor  stupid. 
I  can  see  some  little  distance  into  a  millstone 
when  it  is  translucent. 

"So  Lucy's  father  was  Hoyt,  the  gambler.  I 
remember  perfectly  what  he  was  like.  You  have 
heard  me  tell  the  story  of  Grandmamma  Archer's 
English  horses— how  they  got  frightened  one 
day  in  Richmond  at  a  boy's  kite,  and,  turning 
suddenly,  threw  the  driver  from  his  seat  and  ran 
away  with  the  carriage  full  of  us  children.  Well, 
that  man  Hoyt,  the  gambler,  was  the  man  who 
risked  his  life  to  save  us.  He  caught  the  horses 
and  held  to  them,  although  they  lifted  him  from 
the  ground  and  carried  him  nearly  half  a  square. 


*'KJNG  STAN:'  39 

I  saw  it  all.  I  leaned  out  of  the  window  to  see 
— leaned  so  far  tliat  I  fell  out  just  as  he  did 
stop,  the  in. 

"I  have  never  forgotten  Hoyt.  Twice  after 
that  rescue  he  was  out  at  grandmamma' s.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  think  I  was  in  love  with  him  be- 
fore I  knew  you.  He  must  have  been  my  first 
love.  I  was  only  twelve  years  old  when  he  was 
killed.  But  I  did  not  know  Lucy  was  his  child 
until  I  saw  the  Hoyts  last  Sunday — I  mean  the 
gambler's  brother's  children.  One  of  them  re- 
sembled my  first  love,  and  '  Beauty '  resembles 
that  very  one.  Suddenly  Lucy' s  Sunday  name — 
the  one  I  had  never  heard,  but  the  one  I  had  seen 
on  her  free  paiDers,  which  I  am  happy  to  tell  you 
I  did  examine — flashed  into  my  memory,  and 
flashed  a  very  clear  light  into  one  of  those  mys- 
teries you  have  made  such  a  pother  about. 

"  It  would  have  economized  time  and  trouble  if 
you  had  told  me  several  things,  and  it  would 
also  have  saved  the  wear  and  tear  of  mental 
study  and  painstaking  detective  construction. 

*'  Take  warning,  my  dear.  It  is  better  to  trust 
me.  I  will  keep  close  what  you  confide  ;  but  I 
will  use  my  own  discretion  about  my  discoveries. 
There  are  two  or  three  more  points  that  are  cost^ 


40  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

ing  me  thought,  though  there  are  others  that  I 
have  already  unravelled. 

*'The  truth  is,  a  man  never  does  know  how  to 
keep  a  secret  ;  he  is  a  very  ostrich  in  his  manner 
of  hiding— that  is,  if  any  one  is  tracking  him. 
I  know  a  man  can  hold  his  tongue.  You  have 
remarkable  power  of  restraint  in  that.  But, 
being  a  man,  you  do  not  know  the  thousand 
ways  in  which  a  secret  is  involuntarily  told. 

"  Xow  that  my  conscience  is  relieved,  and  you 
have  had  your  shortcomings  shown  you,  I  will 
get  back  to  my  story. 

"Rue  was  delighted  to  visit  her  cousin  Kate, 
and  charmed  with  the  warm  welcome  she  got. 
There  is  something  in  the  tie  of  blood,  for  the 
proud  lady  and  the  haughty  young  princess 
gushed  into  wannest  friendship. 

"  Then  the  ride  and  my  spine  were  up  for  dis- 
cussion ;  and  the  arrangement  was  all  complete 
for  that  day's  stay  and  Kate's  coming  to  'The 
Cedars '  with  me  the  next  day,  together  with  the 
*  young  friend,'  name  not  mentioned,  who  had 
come  with  her  from  Washington,  and  the  Es- 
monds' .  But  just  then  the  entrance  of  the  Es- 
monds with  that  'young  friend'  sfoj^ped  the 
gush  and  petrified  the  princess. 


'•KIXG   STAXr  41 

''  Rue  did  courteously  unbend  to  the  Esmonds, 
but  slie  was  royally  icy  to  'Beauty.'  Kate's 
look  of  appeal  melted  her  somewhat,  and  the 
proper  invitations  were  properly  given  to  her 
Philadelphia  school-mate,  Miss  Hilton,  Miss 
Hilton  was  glad  to  accept — too  glad  !  She  is 
more  a  Hartley  than  a  Hoyt.  My  gambler 
would  have  thrown  such  an  invitation  at  the 
head  of  the  giver. 

"But  Miss  Hilton  accepted.  Miss  Hilton  is 
here  at  '  The  Cedars' ;  and  so  is  my  Kate. 

"And  my  Kate— my  Kate!  O  Carisbrooke, 
what  a  gossip  you  will  say  I  am  !  But  I  do  wish 
Captain  Hartley  was  removed  to  paradise,  which 
I  am  sure  is  a  better  wish  than  he  deserves  and 
a  finer  place  than  lie  will  ever  see.  But  I  will 
stop  just  here.  You  have  secrets.  My  only  se- 
crets are  my  thoughts  and  my  discoveries.  They 
are  my  mysteries. 

"  But  I  Avill  tell  you  how  we  kept  the  glorious 
Fourth  at  '  The  Cedars.'  Think  of  it— it  may  be 
the  last  we  shall  ever  keep  in  Yii-ginia. 

"For,  0  Carisbrooke!  this  secession  fever  is 
spreading  and  spreading.  People  have  taken  it 
that  we  would  have  thought  fever-proof.  The 
Shirley s   and   the   Esmonds   are  rabid.      Roane 


42  THE  MODERN  HAG  AH. 

is  in  the  crisis  of  the  delirium.  Hony  is  a 
sympathizing  Northern  assistant  helping  his 
very  utmost  to  inoculate  the  Virginians.  And 
oh  I  and  oh  !  '  King  Stan '  has  the  disease.  He 
has  it  so  mildly  that  there  is  method  in  his  mad- 
ness. He  judges  the  North  fairly — Avhicli  is 
more  than  the  rabid  can  do — and  he  deplores 
the  factious  spirit  which  is  rending  the  nation 
in  twain.  Because  he  is  just  and  honest,  and 
calm  and  truthful,  he  is  more  to  be  feared  as  a 
power  that  will  roll  Virginia  secessionward  than 
a  cohort  of  these  breezy  orators,  who,  I  pray 
heaven,  talk  more  than  they  will  ever  fight. 

''But  we  have  one  little  bit  of  comfort  in 
'  Red-head'— he  is  loyal  to  the  Union. 

''The  sachem  from  the  Illinois,  though  he  says 
but  little,  says  that  little  well. 

"  It  is  strange  for  Carson  to  take  sides  against 
Leszinksk3^  I  said  as  much  to  him.  And  I 
think  better  of  him  for  his  frank  explanation. 
He  told  me  that  in  the  beginning  of  the  talk  of 
secession  he  was  inclined  to  take  sides  with  the 
South  ;  that,  being  a  Democrat,  his  conviction 
was  in  favor  of  the  right  of  secession  ;  but  that 
'  King  Stan '  had  urged  upon  him  his  duty  to  his 
State.     And  so  our  beloved  son-in-law,  through 


''KING  STAN:-  43 

the  wisdom  of  States-rightsism,  will  stay  witli  Ms 
section. 

"A  little  because  of  the  obstinacy  of  women, 
and  just  a  little  to  try  a  patriotic  missionary 
enterprise,  I  proposed  an  old-fashioned  spread- 
eagle  celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  that 
it  might  be  at  least  a  remembrance  for  the  fu- 
ture. 

"Roane  and  Horry  gave  cynical  assent ;  Les- 
zinksky  a  very  cordial  but  very  solemn  consent. 
Red-head  was  enthusiastic.  He  had  the  flag  up 
at  daybreak,  and,  thinking  it  something  uncom- 
mon, all  the  uninvited  neighbors  came  as  look- 
ers-on. 

"Leszinksky  read  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. Carson  made  a  very  manly  and  sen- 
sible speech,  which  Roane  was  gracious  enough 
to  characterize  as  'a  model  of  soldierly  common 
sense  and  good  taste.'  Mai  sang  the  '  Star- 
Spangled  Banner '  as  I  never  have  heard  it  sung 
and  never  shall  hear  it  sung  again  by  any  one 
but  her,  unless  United  States  patriotism  is  prac- 
tised in  paradise. 

"Kate,  and  Molly,  and  Anne  Esmond,  and  I 
cried  like  simpletons. 

' '  Rue' s  eyes  shone  like  stars,  and  her  cheeks 


44  THE  MODERN  J  J  AGAR. 

and  lips  were  scarlet.  How  martial  music  must 
have  stirred  the  blood  of  those  old  Leszinkskys  ! 

'''King  Stan'  was  very  pale.  But  'Red- 
head '  ?  Why,  '  Red-head '  nearly  split  his 
throat  with  wild  'hurrahs.'  And  Horry,  and 
Roane,  and  Harry  Esmond,  and  all  llie  multi- 
tude applauded  to  the  echo. 

"I  do  not  like  Miss  Hilton  over-much.  But  I 
wipe  out  the  dislike  from  this  day.  She  has  one 
great  gift :  she  is  one  of  earth's  rarest  singers. 

' '  To-morrow  Kate  goes  back  to  Belleview.  Tlie 
next  day  they  start  to  Washington,  and  then  to 
Oakhill.  They  have  j^romised  to  visit  us  at 
Christmas.  We  all  leave  for  the  White  Sulphur 
next  week.  Steenie  is  much  better,  I  trust  the 
mountain-air  will  give  her  strength.  I  am  de- 
voted to  the  lovely  child,  and  so  is  Rue.  Molly 
spoils  her  ;  and,  for  that  matter,  so  do  all.  I  ex- 
pect a  letter  to  meet  me  at  the  White  Sulphur." 

{'^  From  Miss  Hilton  at  Belleview,  July  17,  to 
Miss  Rachel  Pyle  at  Pliiladelpliia.) 

"  My  darling,  precious  Miss  Pyle  :  I  have  had 
such  a  delightful  time  since  I  last  wrote  you ! 
Cousin  Julia  sent  your  dear,  sweet  letter  here  to 
me.     But  as  you  wished  me  to  write  you  a  regu- 


^'KINQ  STANr  45 

lar  journal  of  my  vacation,  I  must  go  back  to 
the  week  of  our  visit  to  Mount  Vernon,  where  I 
saw  the  tomb  that  contains  the  honored  and  re- 
vered remains  of  the  greatest  and  best  man  that 
ever  deigned  to  protect  and  Ijless  our  country. 
After  standing  in  silent  aioe  before  that  aJtar  of 
patriotism  I  came  back  to  Washington  with 
Cousin  Julia,  and  Molly  Carisbrooke,  and  the 
elegant  Mr.  Bradnor.  We  were  all  invited  to 
make  a  visit  to  Captain  Hartlej^  and  Mrs.  Hartley 
insisted  on  my  going  with  them  to  their  place 
on  the  Hudson  for  the  summer,  which  I  gladly 
consented  to  do.  I  knew  Madame  Detontville 
would  be  very  loilllng  to  let  me  go  for  the  lohole 
vacation,  as  she  is  paid  by  the  year  for  me,  and 
also  for  the  Manapanes,  who  are  orphans  like 
rriyself.  Last  year  she  was  only  too  pleased 
when  Cecelia  Manapane  was  invited  to  stay  with 
that  queer  old  uncle  who  lives  at  Kennett. 

' '  But  for  my  journal.  I  described  to  you  as 
well  as  iDords  could  Molly  Carisbrooke' s  poky, 
red-headed  lover.  When  I  saw  him  kiss  her  in 
that  brazen  public  manner  I  thought  I  should 
go  through  the  floor.  It  is  such  a  strange  match 
for  an  only  daughter  ;  and  Cousin  Julia  says  the 
Carisbrookes  sont  tres  riches  et  Men  commeilfaut. 


46  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"  They  are  to  be  married  some  time  next  winter. 
Mrs.  Hartley  is  going  to  Cincinnati  to  visit  the 
Carisbrookes  Christmas ;  they  have  also  invited 
me^  and  I  have  promised  to  go.  I  suppose  the 
wedding  will  be  a  grand  affair.  Cousin  Julia 
will  arrange  to  get  leave  for  me  from  Madame 
Detontville  to  go  to  Cincinnati  Christmas^  and 
also  for  the  loedding.  If  it  was  not  that  I 
might  not  afterwards  be  asked  to  the  wedding 
I  would  rather  stay  in  Washington  Christmas 
with  Cousin  Julia.  She  has  to  stay  to  re- 
ceive;  and  Washington  is  so  nice,  and  the 
Hartleys  live  in  splendid  style.  Don't  you 
think  it  very  queer  I  have  never  been  invited 
to  them  before,  when  Captain  Hartley  is  my 
guardian?  Cousin  Julia  has  explained  to  me 
that  she  did  not  like  to  take  charge  of  my 
affairs.  I  know  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing wrong  about  her  husband.  She  asked  me 
never  to  speak  of  him  here,  or  of  the  Hiltons  ! 
But  I  mean  to  find  out  what  I  can.  If  there  is 
any  disgrace  it  will  not  hurt  Qiie.  Her  hus- 
band was  only  a  distant  relation  of  my  father' s. 
She  told  me  that.  But  she  will  not  tell  me  any- 
thing of  my  mothef  s  family^  except  that  she 
was  a  Spaniard  my  father  married  in  Cuba,  and 


''KING  ST  an:'  47 

that  I  was  born  in  Cuba.  I  have  asked  her  all  I 
could,  but  there  must  be  some  mystery,  she  is 
so  anxious  to  change  the  subject.  But  she  did 
ask  me  about  my  early  recollection.  I  told  her, 
of  course,  what  I  remembered  about  being  at 
sea  when  I  was  a  tiny  little  thing,  and  all  about 
the  sisters  in  Montreal.  I  wonder  if  that  sea- 
trip  was  when  I  came  from  Cuba  f  But  it  seems 
to  me  I  remember  a  great  river,  and  a  beautiful 
garden,  and  a  grapery  before  that,  and  people  ; 
but  I  did  not  tell  Cousin  Julia  all  that.  Some- 
times it  seems  to  me  that  I  remember  Cousin 
Julia  in  the  garden.  I  do  remember  another  wo- 
man, loho  was  my  nurse.  When  that  woman 
Lucy  came  to  me — when  the  scarlet  fever  broke 
out  at  Madame  Detontville's — I  thought  ^/z^  re- 
minded me  of  my  old  nurse.  She  came  twice 
afterward  when  I  was  ill.  Yoit  were  not  with 
madame  then.  The  last  time  was  in  the  va- 
cation. I  had  been  walking  all  day  in  the 
sun,  and  I  fainted  on  Chestnut  Street.  There 
was  only  Cecelia  Manapane  and  one  of  the  little 
children  with  me.  It  had  happened  that  Lu?3y 
saw  me  fall ;  I  do  not  know  why  she  was  on 
Chestnut  Street.  I  was  ill  and  delirious  a  long 
time.     I  can  scarcely  remember  anything,  but  I 


48  THE  MODERN  HAQAR, 

do  remember  seeing  Cousin  Julia,  and  also  Cap- 
tain Hartley^  I  do  not  know  how  often.  But 
IjWGJ  was  always  there  ;  and  so  I  got  lier  mixed 
up  more  than  ever  with  my  old  nurse.  The  week 
I  came  to  myself  two  or  three  of  the  girls  had 
come  back.  Bue  LesziriksTiy  had  been  back 
some  time.  That  was  before  her  stei)mother 
died,  and- then  she  did  not  go  home ;  she  had 
been  to  the  sea-shore  with  one  of  the  teachers. 
Well,  she  is  very  fond  of  Lucy.  Just  like  her 
— proud  as  a  peacock  to  white  people,  and  great 
friends  with  a  colored  woman.  She  did  help 
Lucy  take  care  of  me ;  and  I  would  have  been 
thanTtful  but  for  what  she  said  to  me  that  spoilt 
it  all.  It  was  one  day  when  I  was  sitting  up, 
and  Lncy  said  I  had  been  up  too  long.  I  would 
not  go  to  bed,  just  to  show  her  her  place.  I  was 
tired  of  her  and  indignant  at  her  presumj^tion. 
I  knew  she  had  been  kissing  my  hands,  and  even 
my  face,  when  I  was  ill.  I  supi^ose  I  did  sit  up 
too  long,  for  I  nearly  fainted,  and  Rue  helped 
Lucy  put  me  in  bed.  Rue  Avent  after  some  co- 
logne or  something,  and  Lucy  commenced  to 
kiss  me,  calling  me  her  'own  precious  child.'' 
I  asked  her  then  if  she  had  not  been  my  nurse 
when  I  was  a  baby.     But  she  shook  all  over,  and 


began  crying  out :  '  My  child  !  My  own  child  ! 
Don't  yon  know  I  am  your  mother,  your  own 
mother  ? '  Then  I  told  her  to  go  away  and  never 
come  near  me  again ;  that  she  was  telling  a 
wicked  lie;  that  I  would  rather  be  ill  and  die 
than  have  a  negro  for  a  mother.  I  pushed  her 
away,  when  she  kept  on  begging  me  to  remembei* 
her.  I  was  really  angry  then,  and  I  sup^Dose  I 
did  call  her  a  wicked  woman  and  several  other 
things.  She  ran  away,  and  I  never  saw  her 
again.  But  just  think  of  Rue  Leszlnksky  tak- 
ing it  up  and  telling  me  that  I  was  an  ungrate- 
ful, despicable  creature  ;  that  I  knew  Lucy  was 
a  harmless  woman,  who  had  lost  her  only  child  ; 
that  Lucy  could  not  be  my  mother,  for  I  was  not 
'true  or  faithful  enough  to  be  the  cliiUl  of  so 
good  a  looman.^  I  have  never  liked  the  nasty, 
proud  thing  since.  But  you  idUI  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  I  have  visited  her.  Mrs.  Hart- 
ley brought  me  here  to  her  old  home — '  The 
Bellemew  Estate-  it  is  called.  You  would 
be  shocked  here  every  day,  for  we  are  wait- 
ed on  by  slaves ;  though  I  must  say  I  like 
them  better  than  I  do  Northern  colored  people, 
they  are  so  respectful  and  attentive.  x\nd  you 
know  you  say  you  would  never  have  colored  ser- 


50  THE  JilODERS  HAGAR. 

vants  ill  the  North,  that  they  are  too  imfpudent 
and  worthless.  But  if  you  did  not  think  slavery 
such  a  sin  I  am  sure  you  would  Wee  such  a  maid 
as  Mrs.  Hartley's  Rose — so  much  better  than 
that  Irish  creature  who  complained  to  madanie 
that  you  took  so  much  of  her  time  waiting  on  you, 
and  that  you  were  so  difficult  to  please.  I  suj)- 
pose  the  principle  is  wrong,  but  I  have  an  excel- 
lent girl  to  wait  on  me  and  dress  me,  and  it  is 
very  nice.  There  are  two  hundred  slaves  on  this 
place.  It  is  Mrs.  Hartley's  own  property,  and 
they  seem  very  happy  and  very  fond  of  their 
mistress.  But  probably  you  would  say  it  Avas  all 
fear.  Eue  Leszinksky  o^NH^Jim  hundred.  Is  it 
not  a  terrible  sin  for  her  to  hold  so  msinj  human 
beings  in  bondage  ?  I  would  not  be  in  her  place 
for  the  world!  A  slam- owner !  I  am  sure  you 
did  not  know  what  a  tor  etched,,  sinful  thing  she 
is.  She  came  over  to  Belleview  in  a  coach  and 
four  with  tico  outriders.  Mr.  Harry  Esmond  and 
Miss  Esmond,  who  are  what  \\\q  slaves  call  '  qua- 
lity,' were  staying  here  with  Mrs.  Hartley.  ]\Ir. 
Harry  Esmond  met  us  on  the  cars.  We  got  off 
at  the  same  station,  and  Mrs.  Hartley  asked  him 
to  bring  his  sister,  as  Ave  were  alone  at  Belleview. 
You  know  I  am  not  vain,  but  it  was  easy  to  see 


''KING  ST  an:'  51. 

that  Mr.  Harry  Esmond  was  not  displeased  with 
the  invitation.  They  had  an  engagement  at 
^The  Cedars,'  the  Leszinlzs'kys'  place^  and  hrolce 
it  to  come  to  us.  As  I  told  you,  Rue  Leszinksky 
came  to  invite  us  to  'The  Cedars.'  And  then 
the  Esmonds  went.  I  would  not  have  gone  to 
lier  house,  but  I  did  want  to  see  how  they  lived. 
How  shocked  you  would  be  !  Why,  the  place  is 
fairly  covered  with  slaves.  And  just  ikliik  what 
airs  she  gives  herself  !  Some  of  the  people  who 
were  visiting  there  called  her  the  Princess  ! 
Oh !  I  know  what  you  will  say  when  I  tell  you 
they  are  secessionists  !  I  am  so  glad  you  think 
the  slaves  will  soon  be  freed !  And  if  they  do 
have  to  kill  their  owners,  who  can  blame  them  % 
I  am  sure  you  are  just  right  in  your  feeling 
about  slavery^  and  that  poor,  dear,  good  John 
Brown  loas  a  martyr.  It  would  make  any  one 
ahhor  slavery  to  see  that  stuck-up  thing  on  her 
plantation.  And,  with  all  Ihqv  haughty  ways,  she 
is  on  perfectly  familiar  terms  with  these  com- 
Qnon  negroes.  No  wonder  she  wanted  me  to 
listen  to  the  insane  raving  of  that  wretched,  crazy 
colored  woman ;  she  would  be  glad  if  it  was  all 
true.  Why,  she  actuaUy  calls  a  mulatto  Mam- 
my  Sara  !     '  The  Cedars '  is  a  larger  hou  ;e  than 


52  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Belleview,  but  it  is  Jiorribly  iwrnisXiedi — old  trum- 
pery  stuff  a  hundred  years  old,  and  that  foolish 
girl  seemed  proud  of  it.  I  heard  her  tell  Colonel 
Roane  that  some  of  the  shackling,  black  old 
tables,  and  secretaires^  and  queer  odds  and  ends 
were  brought  over  by  the  first  Cartarct  that  came 
from  Encjland.  Rich  as  tliey  are,  to  keep  such 
trash  !  How  mean  !  The  dining-room  is  rather 
better.  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  says  it  is  :\.  perfect  pic- 
ture of  an  old  baronial  hall.  But  the  furniture 
is  old  hlaclc  ocik,  with  the  most  horrid  carvings 
of  hears  and  things — enough  to  give  one  frightful 
dreams  to  go  in  it  when  the  big  light-wood  Jcnots 
are  blazing  in  the  liearth  and  the  horrid  things  all 
seem  alixe.  Just  think  of  burning  light-ioood  in 
July  evenings  because  it  happened  to  rain  !  And 
Rue  said  she  was  '  glad  of  the  excuse  to  do  away 
with  candles  when  the  woods  were  full  of  pine- 
knots.''  Princess,  indeed  !  A  miser  I  should  say. 
"They  ham  very  pretty  horses,  and  Colonel 
Roane  gave  me  a  lesson  every  morning  and  eve- 
ning of  the  three  days  we  were  there.  Colonel 
Roane  is  a  member  of  Congress.  He  was  vei'y 
nice  to  me.  And  so  was  Mr.  Harry  Esmond. 
I  ride  now  at  Belleview  with  the  Esmonds  and 
sometimes  Mrs.  Hartley. 


''KINO  stan:'  63 

''  How  did  you  kee]3  the  Fourth  of  July  ?  We 
had  a  perfectly  splendid  time  at  '  Tiie  Cedars.' 
I  sang  the  '  Star-Spangled  Banner '  most  effec- 
tively. I  am  glad  now  that  madame  always  in- 
sisted' on  my  practising  for  those  horrid  concerts. 
I  know  I  do  sing  well.  Signor  Solfeggio  always 
said  I  caught  the  exact  expression  as  he  gave  it 
me.  And  the  poor  man  did  take  great  pains. 
What  a  stupid  he  was  to  let  madame  catch  him 
on  his  knees  that  day  !  As  I  assured  you  at  the 
time,  /  was  not  at  all  to  blame.  Of  course  I  was 
polite  to  him.  But  I  always  tried  not  to  seem  to 
understand  his  nonsense ;  for  I  knew  he  gave 
me  more  time  and  made  my  lessons  easy  by  the 
pains  he  took.  And  I  had  so  much  rather  sing 
with  a  master  than  to  practise  alone.  Tliei^e  was 
something  to  sing  for  when  he  went  mad  over 
my  voice,  as  he  used  to  do,  poor  fool !  I  never 
had  a  greater  success  than  on  the  Fourth.  I  did 
not  miss  a  point  of  acting  or  an  expression  Sol- 
feggio had  taught  me.  I  think  he  would  have 
given  his  eyes  to  have  heard  me.  Music  is  the 
only  thing  I  ever  ham  cared  to  learn.  I  am  sure 
if  Captain  Hartley  had  not  arranged  for  you  to 
room  with  me  and  help  me  in  my  studies  I  would 
never  have  got  through  with  my  classes.     How 


54  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

good  you  have  been  to  get  those  horrid  ^ologies 
in  my  poor  head^  and,  best  of  all,  to  teach  me  to 
idiidi poetry  and  put  some  expression  in  it.  TJiat 
is  what  poor  Solfeggio  did  with  my  singing.  I 
wonder  if  madame  would  let  him  come  a^ain  and 
give  me  lessons  if  you  would  stay  in  the  room  ? 
Will  you  try  to  persuade  her  f  She  knows  Cap- 
tain Hartley  trusts  you^  and  that  he  has  arranged 
for  you  to  go  to  Europe  with  me  when  I  have 
finished  in  Philadelphia.  Now-,  dear  Miss  Pyle, 
wor}]t  you  get  old  Solfeggio  back  ?  Do  !  That's 
a  dear.^  lovely^  sweet  Mentor.  You  know  you 
call  yourself  my  Mentor.  Please,  my  darling 
Mentor,  I  want  to  sing  as  well  as  Lind  or  Son- 
tag  ;  and  the  signor  said  I  could  in  time. 

^ '  We  go  to  Washington  to-morrow.  I  will 
heg  to  stop  and  see  you  a  day  in  Philadelphia  as 
we  go  through. 

''  Your  own  loving^  devoted 

"Mai  Hiltois^" 

{White    Sulphur    Springs,     August    17,    1860. 
Roane  to  Horry.) 

"My  dear  Hokry  :  I  perfectly  agree  with 
your  statement — let  me  quote  it :  '  The  union  of 
the  States  was  in  no  sense  a  constitutional  revo- 


''KING  STAN."  65 

lution  or  a  proclamation  of  a  new  civil  polity  ;  it 
was,  in  fact,  a  mere  Bund  for  the  general  con- 
venience of  tlie  States  and  had  no  mission  apart 
from  them.  The  value  of  the  federal  Constitu- 
tion was  simply  in  the  adjustment  of  the  rela- 
tions of  the  States,  by  which  they  became  a  har- 
monious whole  in  their  foreign  polity.  The  prac- 
tical idea  of  the  federal  Union,  which  left  to  the 
States  the  exclusive  guardianship  of  their  domes- 
tic affairs,  was  a  perfect  recognition  of  the  States 
as  creators  of  the  federal  government,  which  was 
only  the  creature  to  whom  certain  x)owers  were 
delegated  for  the  convenience  of  international 
and  inter- State  relations.' 

''I  repeat,  while  believing  this,  I  believe  that 
our  present  national  difficulty  has  in  reality  but 
small  foundation  in  the  much-argued  question 
of  State-rights.  It  is  something  more  serious 
— something  which  is  already  past  all  chance  of 
peaceful  adjudication. 

"  In  truth,  sectional  animosity  has  already  di- 
vided the  country  into  two  distinct  nations,  and 
slavery  furnishes  a  convenient  cause  of  rupture. 
It  is  slavery  which  is  the  prominent  distinction 
between  the  North  and  the  South,  therefore  it  has 
been  urged  as  a  subject  of  controversy.     As  the 


66  THE  MODERX  HAGAR. 

occasion  of  discord  it  has  become  so  conspicuous 
and  feeling  is  so  violent  that  careless  thinkers 
mistake  the  occasion  for  the  cause.  It  has  the 
great  advantage  of  being  a  specious  plea  for  the 
North  with  the  outside  world  ;  and  it  will  pro- 
bably win  to  that  section  the  symj)athy  of  lovers 
of  freedom,  though  in  reality  the  slavery  agita- 
tion is  not  the  offspring  of  philanthropy  but  of 
jealousy. 

' '  JS'othing  has  ever  been  more  falsely  attacked 
nor  more  unscrupulously  misrepresented  than 
the  system  of  servitude  in  the  South.  It  is  the 
mildest  system  of  obligatory  labor  the  world  has 
ever  known.  To  the  African  it  is  not  slavery  in 
the  sense  of  debasement.  It  has  elevated  the 
negro.  It  has  lifted  him  from  barbarism  into 
the  only  civilization  for  which  he  is  litted — a 
subordinate  place,  it  is  true,  but  a  place  where  he 
is  protected  in  life  and  limb  and  where  certain 
personal  rights  are  recognized,  and  which  gives 
him  a  safety  and  security  unknown  to  tlie  negro 
race  in  Africa. 

"  So  much  for  slavery  as  an  actual  fact.  As  a 
pretext  in  our  national  division  it  is  an  admirable 
cause  of  quarrel.  Yet  slavery  is  but  the  excuse. 
The  true  difference  is  in  the  personal  qualities  of 


''KINGSTANr  57 

the  different  stock  from  which  the  two  sections 
have  sprung. 

^'  The  quarrel  of  the  North  and  the  South  is 
but  a  new  phase  of  the  old  fight  between  the 
Puritan  and  the  Cavalier — a  dangerous  revival 
of  ancestral  feuds  which  originated  in  political 
and  religious  difference. 

*^  African  slave-traders,  who  were  assuredly  not 
Southerners,  made  a  feudal  system  j)ossible  in 
the  plantations  and  colonies  of  the  South  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  That  system  was  founded 
and  perpetuated,  and  is  now  sustained,  by  a 
landed  gentry  who  in  a  great  measure  control  the 
nation. ' 

"The  South  has  been  the  dominant  power 
since  the  Revolution,  but  it  has  not  been  an  as- 
gressive  power  It  has,  on  the  contrary,  threat- 
ened nothing  to  the  North.  It  has  enriched  the 
North  with  its  products.  It  has  ruled  the  coun- 
try for  sixty  years  and  there  is  no  stain  upon  its 
honor.  But  all  this  has  provoked  the  jealousy 
of  the  thrifty  tradespeople,  who  are  busy  with 
their  gains  during  the  week  and  intolerant  bigots 
in  their  Sunday  conventicles.  Unfit  for  legis- 
lators, they  are  envious  foes  of  Southern  states- 
manship.    Their  innate  conviction  of  inferiority 


58  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

adds  to  their  hatred.  Should  they  once  get  into 
power  the  Saturnalia  of  fraud  and  corruption 
will  begin,  and  will  end  only  with  that  last  ter- 
rible protest  against  excess— an  absolute  ruler. 
The  conservatism  of  tlie  South— a  conservatism 
due  to  its  great  landed  interests— has  been  the 
guardian  of  the  republic. 

''Your  suggestive  letter  provoked  all  this,  so 
that  letter  must  be  my  excuse. 

"  To  droi)  argument  for  results— and  in  fact 
all  argument  is  now  too  late— I  have  lost  all  hope 
in  the  elections.  The  vague  platitudes  of  the 
Bell  and  Everett  platform  are  capturing  the  timid 
remnant  of  the  Whigs,  and  also  some  fearful 
souls  out  of,  or  in,  the  Democratic  ranks.  But 
this  could  have  done  no  harm  had  not  our  Sol- 
omons cut  the  Democrac}^  in  twain. 

"  Mr.  Lincoln  ^dll  come  in  and  we  needs  must 
go.  His  inauguration  will  be  the  declaration,  on 
the  part  of  the  Xorth,  of  a  geographical  seve- 
rance of  ties. 

"The  clause  in  tlie  Chicago  platform  on  the 
Dred  Scott  decision  is  the  handwriting  upon  the 
wall.  Judicial  authority  is  to  be  squelched  and 
we  are  left  to  take  'Hobson's  choice.'  It  is  to 
be  submission  to  abolitionism  or  nothing. 


''KING  STAN."  59 

'Tor  me  I  prefer — nothing;  so  I  have  com- 
menced my  preparations  for  the  futnre.  I  shall 
sell  my  j)roj)erty  in  the  North,  and  I  have  writ- 
ten to  my  overseer  to  put  grain  this  fall  in  every 
acre  of  arable  land  on  my  plantation.  Next  year 
there  will  be  lighting  men  to  feed. 

"I  do  not  share  the  general  delusion  of  my 
people ;  I  knov/  the  North  will  fight.  Those 
cursed  Puritans  fought  well  with  Cromw^ell ; 
and  here — with  sucli  a  heavenly  pious  pretext 
— they  will  put  their  persons  in  iDeril  for  their 
pocket's  sake. 

' '  Moreover,  the  war  will  be  no  child' s  play,  nor 
will  it  end  speedily  unless  we  carry  the  war 
into  Africa.  And  that  I  am  afraid  we  will  not 
do.  The  very  State-rights  doctrine  that  honest 
men  like  you  so  sturdily  believe  in  will  forbid 
that. 

"  The  fight  will  be  here  in  Virginia. 

''  I  had  a  long  talk  to-day  with  Colonel  Robert 
Lee,  a  man  wdio,  I  fancy,  wdll  be  our  future 
leader — a  greater  than  Washington,  because  he 
is  Washington  Avithout  the  faults  of  the  irasci- 
ble 'Pater: 

"Lee  and  Leszinksky  are  old  friends.  They 
are  much  together  here,  and  are  much  alike  in 


60  THE  iMODERX  IIAOAR. 

character.  They  have  a  favorite  seat  under  the 
riistlinf^  leaves  of  a  i:>iirple  ash ;  and  ^Yhen  I  can 
get  away  from  the  noisy  declamation  of  our  bat- 
tle-hungry politicians  I  find  my  way  to  tlie  shade 
that  shelters  the  two  soldiers.  Listening  to  the 
sad  reflections  and  grave  apprehensions  of  tliese 
patriotic  and  peace  wishing  warriors,  I  shut  my 
eyes  and  dream  that  the  summer  wind  is  blowing 
from  the  Ionian  Isles,  while  two  of  Plutarch's 
worthies  are  talking  of  a  threatening  oracle  from 
Delphos  and  pre^Daring  for  a  sacrifice  which  may 
appease  the  wrath  of  the  gods. 

"The  noisy  politicians  will  only  talk.  The 
burden  and  heat  of  the  day  that  is  coming  will 
fall  most  heavily  on  such  men  as  Lee  and  Les- 
zinksky. 

' '  Carson  is  still  here,  and  his  days  are  full 
of  softer  cares.  I  am  glad  to  tell  you  that  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke  has  fully  taken  him  into  favor.  His 
time  of  probation  is  shortened,  and  I  hear  from 
Miss  Rue  that  we  are  all  likely  to  meet  in  Cin- 
cinnati in  the  first  week  of  the  coming  year  for  a 
wedding.  It  is  well  that  Carson  is  busy  love- 
making.  Discussion  is  intrenching  him  more 
strongly  in  his  opinions  ;  from  being  the  mildest 
he  is  growing  to  be  the  most  intense  of  Union- 


''KING  STANr  61 

ists.  He  lias  had  a  few  word-passages,  whicli  I 
feared  might  lead  to  a  passage-at-arms,  with  one 
or  two  of  our  hot-blooded,  unreasoning  Hot- 
spurs, who  are  so  near-sighted  and  color-blind 
that  they  see  only  the  side  of  the  shield  that 
is  turned  their  way,  and  refuse  belief  to  any 
other. 

"Miss  Molly  is  fully  occupied  smoothing  tlie 
ruffled  plumes  of  her  gallant  knight.  But  she 
does  keep  him  in  order.  What  a  perfect  wife  she 
will  make ! 

' '  Once  in  a  while  my  teeth  are  set  on  edge  with 
envy  of  some  fellow's  luck  who  may  be  more 
deserving,  but  who  certainly  is  no  more  appreci- 
ative of  the  (half)  divine  sex  than  I. 

"  '  The  Princess  '  walks  in  maiden  meditation, 
fancy  free.  Her  adoration  for  her  father  has  had 
one  excellent  effect.  Her  standard  is  a  good  one, 
and  she  is  not  in  danger  from  any  of  these  cox- 
combs who  flutter  about  her  fortune.  I  often 
wonder  what  fate  is  reserving  for  her.  She,  too, 
is  of  the  Plutarchian  type.  In  one  thing  she  is 
all  wrong— she  is  spoiling  that  dainty  little  half- 
sister  with  over-much  devotion.  One  counts  sac- 
rifice nothing,  and  the  other  will,  I  fear,  as  she 
grows  older  take  it  as  nothing. 


62  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"If  you  have  time  and  inclination,  write  me 
what  further  signs  you  may  see  in  the  times. 

"I  will  be  liere  until  the  last  of  September, 
and  then  we  break  our  party  to  meet  again  at 
the  Carisbrooke  wedding.  In  November  I  will 
be  in  Arkansas.  Letters  addressed  to  Little 
Rock  Avill  always  follow  and  find  me.  All  here 
regret  that  you  would  leave  us  when  we  left  '  The 
Cedars.'     You  should  have  come  with  us." 

{Leszinlcsky    to   Carson  from    ''  TJie   Cedars^''' 
January  1,  1861.) 

"Rue  and  I  have  both  written  to  the  Caris- 
brookes  accepting  their  invitation  for  the  7th. 

"  I  am  ^particularly  glad,  my  dear  Carson,  that 
we  will  be  together  several  days  before  your  mar- 
riage. 

"  Our  long  friendship  has  been  so  much  to  me 
that  I  look  anxiously  for  a  renewal  of  old  ties  of 
confidence  and  comradeship  before  the  new  ties 
are  formed  that  will  necessarily  in  some  measure 
set  aside  tlie  past.  Not  that  I  think  the  past 
will  be  forgotten  or  that  our  tried  aifection  will 
grow  cold — that  would  be  impossible  to  either  of 
us — but  I  foresee  in  the  future  a  separation  of 
hopes  and  interests  that  may  keep  us  apart  for 


KING  STAN: 


63 


years,  whicli  will  be  a  hard  trial  to  a  friendship 
like  ours  ;  not  a  trial  in  the  sense  of  loss  of  re- 
gard, but  a  trial  in  the  sense  of  sorrow  because 
of  our  separation. 

*'  The  long- threatening  storm  is  no  longer  at  a 
distance.  It  is  upon  us.  Danger  is  now  a  live 
thing  with  which  we  have  to  grapple. 

"  When  the  telegraph  announced  the  election 
of  Mr.  Lincoln  I  knew  the  danger— which  a  brave 
man  may  fear  because  it  menaces  his  home  and 
his  country— was  near.  The  call  of  the  Legisla- 
ture of  South  Carolina  for  a  convention,  the 
meeting  of  that  convention  in  Columbia  on  the 
17th  of  last  month,  the  adjournment  to  Charles- 
ton, and  the  passage  on  the  20th  of  the  ordinance 
of  secession  were  rapid  steps  on  the  onward 
march. 

''Major  Anderson's  evacuation  of  Fort  Moul- 
trie, after  spiking  the  guns  and  burning  the  gun- 
carriages,  together  with  the  removal  to  and  the 
occupation  of  Fort  Sumter,  is  a  virtual  assump- 
tion of  liostility  on  the  part  of  the  federal  gov- 
ernment. An  armed  threat  to  a  sovereign  State 
is  of  itself,  as  I  understand  the  federal  Union, 
the  inauguration  of  civil  war,  which  is  the  most 
frightful  of  national  calamities.      And,  as  if  to 


64  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

make  a  way  out  of  difficulty  impossible,  the 
North  receives  the  intelligence  of  the  momentous 
change  in  the  sentiment  of  our  peoj^le  with  sneers 
and  derision,  and  of  the  warlike  attitude  of  the 
government  with  acclaim  and  congratulation. 
Yet  the  congratulations  prove  how  hypocritical 
are  the  sneers. 

"  Northern  newspapers  scoff  at  South  Caro- 
lina ^chivalry.'  The  pictorial  papers  are  tilled 
with  slanderous  and  derisive  caricatures.  The 
South  is  called  '  a  spoilt  child.'  A  really  great 
preacher,  in  a  partisan  and  iin-Christlike  sjiirit, 
exclaims,  '  Let  the  prodigal  go  ! ' 

"  '  Mr.  Greeley,  who  is  certainly  an  authorita- 
tive mouthpiece  of  his  i)arty,  says  in  the  Tri- 
bune^ that  'if  the  cotton  States  are  satisfied 
they  can  do  better'  out  of  the  Union  than  in  it 
we  insist  on  letting  them  go  in  peace.  The  right 
to  secede  exists,  and  we  do  not  see  how  one 
party  can  have  a  right  to  do  what  another  party 
has  a  right  to  prevent.  We  hope  never  to  live 
in  a  republic  whereof  one  section  is  i)inned  to 
the  residue  by  bayonets.  If  ever  seven  or  eight 
States  send  agents  to  Washington  to  say,  ''We 
want  to  go  out  of  the  Union,"  we  shall  feel  con- 
strained   by  our  devotion  to  human  liberty  to 


''KING  STAN."  65 

say,  ''  Let  them  go  !  "  And  we  do  not  seo  liow 
we  could  take  the  other  side  without  coming  in 
direct  conflict  with  the  rights  of  man.' 

^'Thus  South  Carolina  is  invited  and  sneered 
into  secession  at  the  very  moment  that  an  armed 
force  is  set  threateningly  in  the  harbor  of  her 
chief  city. 

"  It  seems  that  the  IS^orth  is  anxious  to  j)reci- 
pitate  disunion.  At  least  it  is  taking  great  pains 
to  provide  South  Carolina  with  cause  and  reason 
for  secession.  The  Abolition  papers  are  evident- 
ly fearful  that  result  will  not  be  attained,  and 
they  honestly  proclaim  their  fears  and  their 
purposes.  But  the  self-called  Unionists  dis- 
claim an  intended  interference  with  slavery  at 
the  moment  they  adopt  a  bold  move  toward 
Federal  centralization,  supported  by  an  armed 
force  which  threatens  to  subvert  the  rights  of  a 
State. 

^'The  sorrowful  attitude  of  the  people  of  Vir- 
ginia, who  deplore  the  rending  asunder  of  the 
Union,  is  also  a  matter  of  amusement  and  deri- 
sion to  the  North.  In  one  breath  we  are  de- 
scribed as  '  cowardly  pacificators  caring  only  for 
federal  patronage  and  federal  offices,'  and  in  the 
next  we  are  called  '  braggarts  and  bullies,'  who 


66  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

^talk  valiantly  for  the  Sontli,  but  who  will  de- 
sert it  in  the  moment  of  need.' 

"•  1  cannot  believe  that  all  Northern  writers  are 
so  utterly  ignorant  of  the  temper  and  history 
of  our  people  ;  consequently  I  must  believe  they 
are  working  understanding! y  to  bring  about  a 
result  they  desire. 

*'  Yet,  despite  the  misrepresentation  and  vilifi- 
cation, Virginia  will  not  secede  as  long  as  there 
is  the  slightest  and  most  feeble  hope  of  reconcili- 
ation, or  even  of  adjustment  looking  to  peaceable 
separation.  When  hope  is  gone  she  will  cast  her 
fortune  with  the  advocates  of  the  rights  of  the 
States  ;  and  the  most  peace-loving  and  Union- 
loving  of  her  children  will  fight  more  fearlessly 
in  her  cause  because  of  her  spirit  of  justice  and 
moderation.  She  vdW  have  done  her  best  for 
peace  and  unity  before  taking  up  arms,  and  she 
will  be  a  rampart  of  defence  to  the  South  in  the 
desperate  struggle  which  will  ensue. 

*'  It  is  certain  that  Virginia  will  be  the  battle- 
ground. Her  central  position,  her  nearness  to 
the  Capital,  will  force  it  as  a  militarj^  necessity. 

'^You  know  what  will  then  be  my  duty  and 
what  is  my  resolve.  I  had  given  up  the  j)rofes- 
sion  of  arms.     If   we  ever  can  judge  ourselves 


'^ KING  STAN."  67 

fairly— if  I  know  myself— my  only  ambition  as  a 
soldier  was  to  do  my  duty  and,  wherever  it  was 
in  my  power,  to  spare  and  to  save  life.  If  I  had 
felt  that  I  was  growing  eager  for  success  for 
selfish  reason— avaricious  of  glory— I  should 
have  known  that  it  was  my  duty,  and  I  would 
have  left  the  army  at  once.  For  we  should  not 
only  pray  not  to  be  led,  but  we  should  instantly 
get  out  of  the  w^ay  of  temptation. 

"  But  I  felt  the  army  was  a  good  school  of  dis- 
cipline for  me,  and  I  was  of  use  there  to  my  fel- 
low-soldiers. I  resigned  only  from  conviction  of 
the  necessity  I  was  under  to  devote  the  remnant 
of  my  life  to  a  higher  duty.  My  children,  both 
motherless  daughters,  needed  me  and  needed  a 
home. 

'M  shall  never  again  draw  sword  from  scab- 
bard, except  in  defence  of  Virginia. 

"  The  first  duty  of  every  American  citizen  is  to 
his  State. 

"It  is  to  the  federal  Union  only  when  that  re- 
presents his  State. 

"I  have  the  common  debt  of  all  patriots  to 
pay,  and  I  have  a  more  particular  obligation.  I 
was  one  of  Virginia's  pupils  in  the  military 
school  which  she,  in  common  with  all  the  States, 


68  THE  JIOBEBX  HAGAR. 

established  and  supported.  As  a  rei)resentative 
of  lier  bounty  I  had  the  training,  the  education 
which  prepares  a  soldier  for  the  profession  of 
arms.  In  addition  to  the  common  debt  of  pa- 
triotism I  owe  a  personal  debt.  Virginia  gave 
me  place  in  the  federal  Union  which  her  sons 
and  her  treasure  had  so  largely  contributed  to 
create,  and  also  the  profession  of  arms  in  the 
Military  Academy  which  her  tribute,  in  revenue 
paid  to  the  federal  government,  assisted  to  sup- 
port. 

"  But,  my  dear  Carson,  you  owe  the  same  debt 
to  Illinois.  The  heaviness  of  a  great  sorrow 
comes  over  me  when  I  think  of  the  parting  of 
comrades  who  have  been  to  each  other  the  truest 
and  most  devoted  of  brothers. 

^'  Your  goddaughter  has  never  asked  me  but 
one  question  about  the  chances  of  the  future, 
although  I  know  she  is  keenly  alive  to  the 
change  that  has  come  and  the  change  that  is 
coming.  Her  question,  onlj^  yesterday,  was  : 
^  Papa,  will  the  old  regiment  go  with  the  North  \ 
Will  all  of  them  be  against  us  ? '  I  do  not  know 
which  of  us  was  sorest  at  heart  when  I  said, 
^Yes.' 

"  I  write  this  that  it  may  not  be  necessary  to 


''KING  STANr  69 

tell  it  in  words  when  we  meet.  We  will  hold  to 
our  friendship,  Carson,  and  be  silent  as  to  the  in- 
evitable. I  know  you  will  go  with  Illinois,  and 
I  know  Illinois  will  go  with  the  North.  Mr. 
Douglas's  influence  will  be  as  jDotent  to  hold, 
and  will  be  as  potently  used  to  hold,  the  State  in 
the  Union  as  Mr.  Lincoln' s  would  be. 

' '  The  Democratic  alliance  with  the  South  has 
been  only  an  alliance  of  parties.  It  will  now  side 
with  its  section  and  its  interests  in  its  section. 

^'  But  come  what  may,  old  comrade,  we  will 
love  one  another.  I  trust  you  will  keep  to  our 
old  compact  and  be  the  guardian  of  my  daugh- 
ters. My  will  is  made,  and  all  arranged  so  that 
the  date  may  be  on  record  and  nothing  may  be 
urged  as  to  our  antagonistic  position  at  the  time 
when  it  may  come  into  effect. 

"Rue's  faults  are  generous  faults,  and  she 
will  be  amenable  to  your  rule  through  love  to 
me  as  well  as  to  you.  But  my  great  fear  for 
her  is  that  she  may  sacrifice  her  own  life  and 
happiness  in  some  hot-tempered  outburst  of 
sympathetic  defence  of  another,  or  in  some  pas- 
sionate tempest  of  enthusiasm  or  gratitude.  I 
am  glad  I  owe  no  debt  of  friendship  or  favor  to 
any  one  I  could  not  trust  my  darling  to  love. 


70  THE  MODERX  HAGAR. 

''  Steenie  is  so  sweet  and  gentle  and  attractiv-? 
that  I  fear  we  are  spoiling  her.  Rue  is  devoted 
to  her,  and  we  know  what  Rue's  devotion  means. 

"I  beg  of  you,  Carson,  do  not  let  Margaret's 
child  sacrifice  herself  even  for  her  sister.  I  tell 
you  frankly  that  is  the  danger  I  most  fear. 

^'I  have  sometimes  hoped  Rue  and  Roane 
would  care  for  each  other.  That  is  rather  badly 
put,  for  they  do  care  for  each  other  ;  but  their 
mutual  regard  is  too  openly  and  too  frankly  ex- 
pressed to  promise  the  fulfilment  of  my  hope — 
which  is  a  mere  thought  with  me,  but  one  you 
will  understand.  With  love  to  the  Carisbrookes 
from  us  all — and  as  that  includes  you,  why  you 
and  Miss  Molly  must  take  the  largest  share — 

**  Always  your  comrade  and  brother, 

•'Stanislaus  Leszinksky." 


CHAPTEH  XXYIII. 


The  bridegroom  may  forget  liis  bride 
"Was  made  bis  wedded  wife  yestreen ; 
The  mouarch  may  forget  the  crown 
That  ou  his  head  an  hour  has  been  j 
The  mother  may  forget  the  child 
That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee ; 
But  I'll  remember  thee,  Glencairn, 
And  a'  that  thou  has  done  for  me." 


OlS^  tlie  4tli  of  January  the  Leszinkskys  ar- 
rived in  Washington  on  their  way  to  Cin- 
cinnati. E-oane  was  to  accompany  them, 
and  one  day's  stay  in  Washington  had  been 
arranged  for  his  convenience.  But  he  met  them 
at  Willard'  s  with  two  excellent  reasons  for  post- 
poning his  departure  until  the  10th  ;  he  would 
then  arrive  in  Cincinnati  one  day  before  the  wed- 
ding. Excuse  No.  1 :  A  delegation  had  arrived 
during  the  holidays  from  Arkansas,  and  were  in 
daily  conference  with  their  senators  and  rej^re- 
sentatives  as  to  the  action  of  Arkansas  in  the 
secession  movement.  Excuse  No.  2  was  more 
personal.  Captain  Hartley,  v,diose  political  po- 
sition brought  him  into  rather  close  relation  withi 

71  . 


TZ  THE  3I()DJ:BX  hagar. 

Roane  in  committee-rooms  and  caucus  meetings, 
liacl  asked  Roane  to  escort  Mrs.  Hartle}^  and 
Miss  Hilton  to  Cincinnati.  Tliey  conld  not  leave 
until  the  lOtli.  Mrs.  Hartley  had  to  preside  at 
a  grand  political  dinner  and  reception,  where  the 
delicate  threads  of  political  webs  were  to  be 
skilfully  set  to  catch  the  timid.  EA^ery  house 
in  "Washington  that  winter  was  a  focal  point  for 
some  large  or  little  intrigue,  and  Hartley's  was 
the  centre  around  which  revolved  the  jS^orthern 
sympathizers  Avith  secession. 

Kate  Avas  a  Virginian  of  the  Virginians,  which 
expressed  at  that  time  the  utmost  intensity  of 
Unionism  yet  left  in  the  State-rights  school.  In 
good  truth,  every  Virginian  then  in  Washington 
from  the  old  Dominion  (and  they  Avere  there  in 
shoals  :  merchants,  professional  men,  planters, 
and  idlers — I  give  the  ascending  grade  of  rank) 
walked  Pennsylvania  Avenue  Avith  the  confi- 
dent mien  of  one  AA^ho,  knoAA'ing  he  is  born  to 
greatness,  is  AA^aiting  to  have  it  thrust  upon  him. 

There  AA^as  a  plethora  of  embryo  Washingtons, 
Jeffersons,  Patrick  Henrys,  and  Randolphs  in 
the  Capitol  City  equally  ready  to  be  "Fathers 
of  the  Country"'  ;  authors  of  ncAv  resolutions 
framing  "the  mode  and  measure  of   redress"; 


orators  proudly  threatening,  ''  If  this  be  treason 
make  the  most  of  it"  ;  duelists  coolly  selecting 
a  location  for  the  inevitable  bullet  ;  or  debaters 
stabbing  an  antagonist  with  the  point  of  a  sting- 
ing sarcasm.  That  they  were  not  already  winged 
and  fully  feathered  was  the  misfortune  of  the 
country.  But  their  "sheathed  thoughts"  were 
unheard,  and  after  weeks  of  patient  waiting  and 
unremunerative  effort  they  disap]3eared  from  lob- 
bies and  avenues,  and  sank  into  silence  with  the 
"mute,  inglorious  Miltons  and  Hampdens"  of 
their  resx)ective  counties. 

Poor  felloAvs  !  The  embryos  missed  greatness, 
but  they  died  heroes,  droj^xDing  one  by  one  upon 
those  bloody  battle-fields  of  Yirginia.  Recog- 
nized too  late  !  Why  did  they  not  cry,  as  they 
filed  past  that  unfinished  monument  to  the  first 
and  greatest  of  American  rebels,  Morituri  te 
salutamns  ! 

Dr.  Carisbrooke  and  Carson  were  waiting  on 
the  x>latform  of  the  Hamilton  and  Dayton  Rail- 
road station  for  the  coming  of  the  eight  o'clock 
train,  now  some  minutes  overdue.  There  was 
the  hoarse  scream  of  an  engine  at  Brighton,  fol- 
lowed by  the  rumbling  thunder  of  lieavy  wheels 


74  THE  MODERN  II A  OAR. 

on  an  iron  track,  and  with  short,  angry  puffs 
and  a  red  glare  in  its  cyclopean  eye  the  belated 
locomotive  rolled  heavily  into  the  station  at  Cin- 
cinnati. 

It  was  a  clear,  cold,  frosty  evening.  The  street- 
lamps  flickered  in  little,  waving  tongues  of  flame, 
which  sent  their  quivering  red  rays  against  the 
window-panes  of  the  station  and  into  the  shadowy 
angles  of  the  houses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way. 

In  the  distance  stretched  lengths  and  cross- 
lengths  of  lights  which  traversed  the  city  and 
climbed  the  encircling  hills. 

Overhead  the  multitudinous  stars  shone 
through  the  soft  radiance  of  the  mystic  twi- 
light which  lingers  over  cities  when  skies  are 
stormless,  from  the  setting  until  the  rising  of 
the  sun ;  while  below  the  curving  river  reflected 
the  glittering  chain,  the  tongues  of  flame  and  the 
radiant  stars. 

Doctor  Carisbrooke  took  charge  of  Rue  and 
Steenie,  Mammy  Sara  and  Oscar  were  packed  in 
a  hackney  coach  with  the  numerous  packages 
of  the  travellers,  while  Carson  and  Leszinksky 
drove  on  rapidly  in  the  light  buggy  with  the  fast 
trotter  which  Carson  had  driven  over  fi^om  the 


-  KING  STAN."  75 

garrison  at  Newport,    where  lie  was  now   sta- 
tioned. 

There  had  been  a  silent  but  more  than  usually 
cordial  greeting  between  the  two  friends.  The 
silence  was  unbroken,  except  by  some  casual 
question  and  reply  as  to  change  in  the  route  and 
the  streets,  until  they  commenced  the  ascent  of 
Vine  Street  hill. 

Carson  checked  the  rapid  gait  of  his  horse  as 
he  said :  ''  I  had  not  time  to  answer  your  letter, 
Stan,  and,  although  you  do  not  seem  to  think  so, 
words  are  better  and  easier  of  understanding 
when  we  are  face  to  face.  I  perfectly  compre- 
hend your  position  and  your  feeling.  In  your 
place  I  should  be  governed  by  the  decision  of 
Virginia.  I  hope  to  God  Virginia  will  do  no- 
thing that  will  separate  us  !  I  don' t  care  a  damn 
for  the  cotton  States,  and  I  would  be  glad  if  they 
were  out.  If  New  England  would  go  too,  as  her 
States  have  threatened  to  do  from  time  to  time,  it 
would  be  a  blessed  riddance  to  the  West  and  to 
the  Middle  States.  '  But  I  am  in  the  army,  and  I 
certainly  will  not  resign  just  as  those  Carolina 
game-cocks  begin  to  crow.  If  I  was  in  Ander- 
son's place  I  would  send  over  a  few  shells  and 
make  it  hot  for  them." 


76  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"I  do  not  think  yon  would,  Carson.  You 
would  know,  as  Anderson  does,  that  the  State  is 
a  powder-magazine.  A  shell  thrown  wdth  hostile 
intent  into  Charleston  would  blow  \\\)  the  Union.'' 
"  Have  you  any  ho^De  of  its  existence?" 
''Not  much.  But  in  a  good  cause  the  faintest 
hope  is  worth  cherishing.  Unfortunately,  men's 
passions  are  so  inflamed  tlie}^  will  not  listen  to 
reason.  I  am  very  glad  Anderson  is  in  the  place 
of  danger.  He  is  an  excellent  soldier,  and  as  a 
man  he  is  moderate,  modest,  and  just.  If  any 
federal  officer  can  maintain  peaceful  relations 
with  Charleston  he  will.  I  am  only  fearful  of 
the  orders  he  may  receive  from  Washington.  I 
regretted  his  change  from  Moultrie  to  Fort  Sum- 
ter ;  but  then  I  cannot  judge  for  him — no  one 
could  who  was  not  in  his  position.  Fortunately, 
he  is  popular  with  the  Charleston  people,  and 
they  will  not  forget  that  Mrs.  Anderson  is  a 
Southerner.  Family  relationships  are  exceed- 
ingly influential  in  a  crisis  like  this.  If  you  were 
going  to  Sumter  to  spend  your  honeymoon  I 
w^ould  feel  confident  that  you  would  be  a  very 
gallant  and  courteous  enemy  to  the  Charleston- 
ians.  Miss  Molly  would  capture  them  as  a 
charming:  woman  and  as  a  Carisbrooke." 


^' KING  STAN."  117 

*^  Doctor  Carisbrooke  is  a  Unionist." 
''Yes,  I  grant  he  is  in  principle.  But  lie  be- 
longs to  one  of  the  old  Virginian  families.  I 
think  he  will  find  that  he  loves  Virginia  dearly 
when  war  has  desolated  her  green  lields  and 
quiet  homes.  From  Mrs.  Carisbrooke' s  letters  I 
infer,  although  she  does  not  absolutely  admit  it 
in  words,  that  her  feeling  for  Virginia  is  likely 
to  outweigh  her  attachment  to  the  federal  idea." 
"  Do  you  thii^dt  only  an  idea,  Stan  ? " 
"An  idea  is  a  great  thing;  sometimes  it  is 
a  great  truth.  Ideas  make  and  undo  treaties, 
states,  and  peoples.  Because  of  ideas  came  the 
truism  that  the  poet,  '  the  ballad-maker,  is  greater 
than  the  law-maker.'  One  deals  with  ideas,  the 
other  with  facts.  And  because  facts  are  stub- 
born things  they  excite  and  beget  stubbornness. 
Ideas  capture  through  their  suavity.  Feeling 
may  conquer  ideas ;  facts  rarely  do.  I  think 
feeling  is  conquering  Mrs.  Carisbrooke." 

"  The  cursed  ill-temper  and  spite  of  her  North- 
ern neighbors  is  doing  it.  She  was  an  excellent 
Unionist  last  summer  in  Virginia." 

Leszinksky  laughed  as  he  answered:  "For 
your  sake,  Carson,  I  will  try  my  best  to  per- 
suade her  to  make  us  a  winter  visit.     I  assure 


78  THE  MODERN  HAGAR, 

you  she  will  liear  very  few  kind  things  said  of 
the  North.  Virginian  women  are  not  Griseldas. 
The  patient  quality  in  their  patriotism  is  soon 
exhausted.  Personal  bitterness  is  intense  now, 
and  it  is  growing  fierce  and  aggressive.  There 
is  the  pity  of  it !  Friendship,  affections,  even 
family  relationships,  will  hardly  survive  the 
wrench  that  is  coming." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Carson,  who  caught  it 
in  a  mighty  grasp — the  clasp  ^le  might  take  if 
two  shipwrecked  friends  were  going  down  to- 
gether in  a  stormy  sea.  They  looked  at  each 
other,  but  somehow  there  was  a  misty  quality 
in  the  starlight.  The  faces  seemed  already  far 
apart.  With  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob  Car- 
son said  : 

^'We  vdYL  never  let  go  our  friendship,  old 
comrade  ?" 

"Never.  We  are  J^ound  by  a  past  we  can 
neither  of  us  forget.  And  then — there  is  Mar- 
garet ;  she  loved  you  as  a  brother,  and  slie  is 
yet  the  star  of  my  life.  The  sweetness  of  hea- 
ven, Carson,  is  reunion.  We  will  find  there  our 
broken  affections  and  friendshix">s.  If  we  are  ever 
face  to  face  in  a  battle-field — not  as  foes  (we  could 
never  be  foes),  but  each  in  the  service  of  his 


'' KING  STAN."  79 

countT}^ — thougli  '  you  slay  me  yet  will  I  love 
you.'  " 

The  stars  shone  out  clear  and  bright.  The  mist 
had  gathered  into  tears. 

An  hour  later  they  came  into  the  drawing- 
room  at  Rosebank  together.  Carson  had  given 
his  horse  in  charge  to  the  servant  who  was  wait- 
ing at  the  gate,  and  they  had  turned  away  from 
the  house  and  walked  in  the  dim  light  through 
the  wood.  Leszinksky  had  thought  of  the  sum- 
mer day  and  the  beautiful  woman  when  he  sat 
down  on  the  bank  above  the  path  where  the 
robin  was  buried. 

Sitting  there,  he  gave  Carson  his  last  charge  to 
and  of  his  daughters  ;  last  directions  for  the 
care  of  the  people  whose  progenitors  had  been 
for  generations  faithful  servants  of  the  Masons  ; 
last  messages  for  his  friends  ;  and  a  request  to 
Carson  to  care  for  Kate  if  she  should  have  need 
of  a  protector.  And  Carson  made  every  pro- 
mise his  comrade  asked. 

Then,  standing  in  the  shadows,  they  clasped 
each  other  in  an  embrace  which  was  the  seal 
of  the  past  and  the  sign  and  the  promise  in  the 
future. 

When    they  entered  the  drawing-room   Mrs. 


80  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Carisbrooke's  quick  exclamation  of  reproach  was 
hushed  when  half  uttered.  She  saw  the  reason 
for  their  delay  in  the  faces  of  the  friends. 

Doctor  Carisbrooke  came  from  his  study  as 
supi)er  was  announced.  Molly,  Rue,  and  Steenie 
were  in  the  supper-room  when  the  elders  entered 
from  the  drawing-room.  As  Leszinksky  kissed 
Molly  he  placed  in  her  hands  two  small  pack- 
ages. 

*<  My  gift  and  Steenie' s,  with  our  love  to  Cou- 
sin Molly." 

Molly  opened  the  packages.  One  was  an  ex- 
quisitely-painted miniature  of  Margaret,  the 
other  of  Eue  and  Steenie. 

Molly.  ^'Thanks,  Uncle  Stan— thanks  to  you 
and  Steenie  ;  nothing  could  be  more  valued  as  a 
wedding-gift  than  we  will  value  these." 

Rue  hurriedly  left  the  room  ;  returning  before 
the  examination  of  the  miniatures  was  finished, 
she  gave  a  small  parcel  to  Carson,  and  to  Molly 
an  open  case  containing  a  superb  set  of  pearls. 

Molly.  "ORue!  I  have  no  words  with  which 
to  thank  you." 

Bue.  "Then,  Molly,  I  will  be  glad  if  you  do 
not  try  to  find  any.  Tlie  pearls  are  a  Cartaret 
gift  of  ceremony  from  '  the  heiress  of  The  Ce- 


'' KING  STAN.''  81 

dars.'  I  tliink  their  selection  is  rather  cred- 
itable to  that  disagreeable  and  much-worried 
personage  ;  further  than  recognition  of  taste  in 
the  selection  there  is  no  need  of  thanks.  But, 
Molly,  do  not  take  it  to  heart  that  Rucheil  Les- 
zinksky  has  given  something  of  higher  value  to 
your  sweetheart. ' ' 

Carson  opened  the  parcel,  which  contained  an- 
other miniature.  Molly  leaning  on  his  shoulder, 
they  saw  the  face  at  the  same  moment  and  with 
one  impulse  turned  to  kiss  Rue,  Carson  ex- 
claiming : 

"You  have  fulfilled  the  wisli  I  made  as  I  look- 
ed at  the  miniature  of  your  mother.  But  how 
did  you  persuade  '  King  Stan  '  to  this,  Rue  ?  He 
has  always  been  obstinate  in  the  matter  of  pic- 
tures—even mulish  about  so  simple  a  thing  as  a 
daguerreotype." 

Bue.  "  I  did  not  persuade,  nor  did  he  consent. 
He  knew  nothing  of  it." 

LeszinTislzy .  ' '  My  picture  ?  In  what  trap  have 
I  fallen?" 

Rice.  "  The  trap,  papa,  was  the  painting  of  the 
other  miniatures.  The  artist  caught  the  likeness 
as  he  could.  I  knew  you  thought  I  Avas  rather  im- 
portunate in  begging  you  to  come  and  keep  our 


82  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

'  Humming-Bird '  in  order  during  those  long  sit- 
tings. Til  en  you  were  there  so  often  about  mam- 
ma's picture  ;  and,  if  you  remember,  there  was 
always  some  reason  for  your  going,  and  you 
always  had  the  same  seat  given  you.  This  is  the 
result,  and  not  the  only  one.  There  are  two 
others  ;  see,  I  am  wearing  one,  and  here,  '  Hum- 
ming-Bird,' liere  is  yours." 

Rue  pointed  to  a  brooch  she  wore — her  father  s 
head  painted  on  ivory  and  set  in  pearls.  She 
gave  one  like  it  to  the  beautiful  child,  who 
danced  and  sang  lier  delight. 

"Bring  it  here,  '  Humming-Bird,'  "  called  Les- 
zinksky  ;  then,  as  the  child  did  not  hear,  he 
whistled  a  few  soft  notes.  There  was  a  rush  of 
white  drapery  that  rustled  like  wings,  and  Stee- 
nie  was  nestling  in  her  fatlier's  arms.  He,  look- 
ing at  the  miniature,  said  : 

''I  do  not  know,  Rue— in  truth,  I  think  one 
never  does  know  one's  own  face — but  I  fancy  the 
painter  of  this  has  won  your  patronage  by  flat- 
tering me." 

Rue.  *'Is  mamma's  flattered,  or  Steenie's,  or 
mine?" 

Leszinksyy.   "  No,  I  do  not  think  they  are." 

Rue.   '^  Neither  do  I  think  is  this.     In  fact,  I 


^'KING  STAN:'  83 

quarrelled  over  it  daily.  I  am  afraid  I  bullied 
the  poor  little  painter ;  I  know  I  frightened  him 
prodigiously.  But  the  result  was  worth  it.  He 
said  himself  that  yours  is  the  best  of  the  minia- 
tures." 

LeszinksTcy.  * '  All  of  which  proves  the  flat- 
tery. The  poor  fellow  dared  not  paint  me  in  my 
very  habit  as  I  live.  He  had  the  fear  of  you  be- 
fore his  eyes.  He  was  wise  enough  to  find  your 
weak  point.  Your  vanity  is  not  personal,  my 
Kue." 

The  tenderness  of  Leszinksky '  s  tone  and  glance 
brought  his  daughter  to  his  side.  Steenie  had 
flown  to  Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  and  all  were  busy 
with  the  miniatures.  Stooping  low,  with  her 
arms  about  her  father' s  neck,  Rue  said  : 

'^  You  are  my  especial  vanity,  papa.  But  yet 
it  is  personal,  for  you  are  my  very  own— the 
dearest  treasure  I  have  in  all  the  world." 

A  tear  dropped  on  the  hand  Rue  raised  to  her 
lips.  Looking  into  her  eyes,  her  father  saw 
shadowed  in  their  depths  the  fear  that  was 
haunting  her — fear  for  that  which  is  dearest. 

The  doctor's  voice  grumbling  a  complaint  was 
heard. 

"Very  fine,  very  pleasant — looking  at  pearls 


84  THE  MODERN  IIAGAR. 

and  flattering  Leszinksky.  But  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  you  all  to  eat  your  supper  while  it  is 
w^arm.  Hot  biscuit  and  hot  waffles  have  come 
and  gone.  The  prairie  chickens  will  be  burnt, 
not  broiled.  Our  Rosebank  cook  is  a  long-suf- 
fering and  patient  woman,  but  human  nature 
linds  a  point  where  revolt  to  oppression  is  obliga- 
tory. Supper  has  been  half  an  hour  on  the 
table,  and  travellers  that  ouglit  to  be  hungry  are 
yet  unfed.  Come  here,  Steenie.  Your  jilace  is 
here  beside  me  ;  we  will  eat  our  supper  like 
sensible  people." 

The  days  the  Leszinkskys  spent  at  Rosebank 
that  w^eek  were  very  quiet,  happy  days  that 
lived  always  in  the  recollection  of  the  guests  and 
the  hosts. 

Carson's  presence  and  Carson's  happiness  were 
the  most  salutary  of  tonics  to  Leszinksky. 

Steenie,  much  to  her  own  deliglit  and  his,  was 
the  doctor's  constant  companion.  She  would 
make  quick  rushes  into  his  study,  following 
him  from  the  conservatory  to  tlie  hot-houses, 
going  with  him  to  the  stable  with  pockets  filled 
with  lumps  of  sugar  for  the  horses,  watch- 
ing the  harnessing,  asking,  with  the  soft,  be- 
seeching   appeal    of    her   beautiful  dark   eyes, 


^^KINQ  STAN."  85 

to  go  witli  him  in  his  long  morning  drives. 
Whenever  the  weather  was  fit  consent  was  al- 
Avays  given.  A  basket  would  be  quickly  filled 
with  hastily-improvised  bouquets,  which  were  left 
with  suffering  patients  of  the  doctor's  as  visible 
reminders  of  the  child  who  brought  into  those 
dull,  wintry  days  of  pain  the  loveliness  and 
freshness  of  the  spring-time. 

Molly  and  Eue  were  equally  inseparable,  and 
in  the  long  hours  of  their  companionship  their 
early  attachment  grew  into  a  strong  and  noble 
friendship — a  friendship  rarely  possible  to  wo- 
men, for  the  lives  of  women  are  so  absorbed  by 
the  affection  they  give  in  such  measureless  quan- 
tity that  there  is  scarcely  place  for  friendship. 
They  are  very  ready  to  pledge  themselves — be- 
lieving, mayhap,  at  the  time  the  pledge  is  made, 
in  its  eternal  duration — to  a  sentiment  they  call 
friendship,  which  is  simply  another  phase  of  the 
affection  they  lavish  on  their  last  caprice. 

But  between  these  two  maidens  the  reality 
was  possible,  because  the  conditions  of  that  tru- 
est, noblest,  and  most  unselfish  of  sentiments 
were  present.  Their  temperaments  and  way  of 
thought  were  as  widely  different  as  had  been 
their  training  and  manner  of  life.     But  these  dif- 


86  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR 

ferences  were  harmonized  through  strong  points 
of  likeness.  They  were  equally  tenacious  in  lik- 
ing and  stubborn  in  surrender  of  such  liking. 
Molly's  was  the  more  amiable  but  not  the  sweeter 
character  of  the  two  ;  yet  Molly  would  seem  the 
sweeter  because  of  her  steadfast  calmness. 

Both  were  truthful  and  honest  beyond  the  or- 
dinary measure  of  woman,  ^'either  was  given 
to  that  small  lying,  that  petty  duplicity,  with 
which  the  sex  too  often  think  it  needful  to  hide 
the  rough  edges  of  life.  Yet  here  again  results 
Avere  different  because  their  temperaments  were 
different. 

Molly's  truthfulness  was  an  adornment  be- 
cause it  was  never  discourteous.  Rue's  kept  her 
too  constantly  in  the  objective  case.  Her  truth- 
fulness was  disputative,  and  thus  it  was  fre- 
quently offensive.  But  after  admitting  that  the 
balance  turns  again  in  Rue's  favor.  Molly  never, 
or  rarely,  offended  ;  consequently  she  was  never 
humbled  through  confession  of  offence.  Nor 
had  she  learned  from  the  teaching  of  humilia- 
tion to  make  quick  and  cordial  concession  to 
others.  All  this  Rue  had  learned  through  the 
misadventures  into  which  she  had  strayed  or 
fallen ;    and  the   impulsiveness   that  prompted 


''KING  STAN."  87 

instant  reparation  won  her  from  geilerous  na- 
tures the  liking  which  is  all  the  stronger  be- 
cause it  is  conquered. 

The  stability  of  this  new  friendship,  founded 
as  I  have  shown,  was  made  sure  by  mutual  re- 
spect and  esteem.  It  widened  Molly's  ways  of 
thought  and  gave  breadth  to  her  judgment.  She 
learned  to  be  tolerant— the  lesson  which  is  so 
difficult  to  the  well-trained  and  carefully-nur- 
tured ornaments  of  society.  To  E,ue  this  friend- 
ship was  a  still  greater  good— it  had  a  decided 
and  beneficial  effect  in  the  qualities  she  acquired 
from  her  friend. 

I  have  made  but  a  poor  exhibit  of  Rucheil 
Leszinksky  if  I  have  not  made  the  reader  see 
and  understand  the  strength  and  simplicity  of 
her  character.  But  I  insist  that  just  such  char- 
acters are  most  susceptible  to  impression.  They 
always  catch  some  measure  of  the  quality  of 
those  they  love.  Carson  understood  this  truth 
so  well  that  in  her  babyhood  he  had  said  of  Eue: 
''  She  is  not  one  who  can  touch  pitch  and  not  be 
defiled.  I  thank  Ood,  when  she  sees  a  scoundrel 
she  scorns  him." 

Through  her  susceptibility  Rue  caught  a  small 
modicum  of  Molly's  serene  and  calmly  impartial 


88  THE  3I0DErtN  HA  GA  R. 

sense  of  right.  One  naturally  speculates  upon 
wliat  deei)er  cliange  might  have  been  wrought 
in  Rue  if  this  companionship  had  lasted.  Un- 
happily the  companionsliii)  was  broken  by  the 
onward  marcli  of  the  national  calamity,  which 
was  approaching  day  by  day  with  the  swift  re- 
lentlessness  of  Fate. 

Mrs.  Hartley,  Miss  Hilton,  and  their  attendant 
cavaliers  arrived  the  day  before  the  wedding. 
Besides  Roane,  Bradnor  was  on  duty ;  he  had 
been  invited  at  Mrs.  Hartley's  request. 

Kate  and  the  Carisbrookes  were  sincerely  glad 
to  meet  again.  Mai  Hilton  was,  as  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke  thought,  too  effusive ;  which  effusive- 
ness Rue  rather  haughtily  repelled,  until  Molly 
begged  her  consideration  for  the  girl  who  had 
*'  never  known  either  home  or  family  ties." 

Then  our  Princess  softened— over-much,  in 
fact,  for  her  relinquishment  of  a  i)rejudice  sug- 
gested mistrust  of  that  intuition  Avhich  is  wo- 
man's divinely-given  safeguard,  and  more  espe- 
cially the  safeguard  of  an  intense  and  trustfnl 
nature. 

While  in  this  softened  and  contrite  frame,  that 
had  already  surrendered  her  to  repentance,  Rue 


''KING  STANr  89 

was  introduced  to  "Mr.  Bradnor  "  and  recog- 
nized the  ''  swamped  lieutenant."  Her  unaccus- 
tomed humor,  and  her  loving  memory  of  the 
"squad"  and  the  life  that  had  been  so  dear  to 
her,  swept  away  all  recollection  of  offence,  ex- 
cept remembrance  of  herself  as  an  offender. 

A  swift,  amused  glance  from  Carson  brought 
a  deep  rose-tint  into  her  usually  pale  cheeks. 
Both  had  thought  of  "the  duel."  Rue's  wo- 
manliness was  proved  by  her  blushing  face,  and 
still  more  by  her  prettily  apologetic  greeting  of 
her  old  enemy.  Even  her  father,  who  was  con- 
stantly expecting  from  her  the  new  development 
of  some  hitherto  unknown  perfection,  was  sur- 
prised at  her  frank  confession  of  the  wrong  she 
had  done,  joined  to  expression  of  regret  for  the 

WTTOng. 

But  her  father's  surprise  was  a  mildly  appro- 
bative  wonder,  very  different  from  Carson's  as- 
tonishment. For  Carson,  who  had  watched  all 
the  moods  of  her  stormy  childhood,  would 
.  have  been  less  exasperated,  less  dismayed,  at  re- 
newal of  her  challenge  than  at  this  sweet  apo- 
logy. From  that  moment  the  "swamped  lieu- 
tenant" was  a  hete  noire  to  the  fiery  dragoon. 

Then,  too,  Bradnor's  manner  of  accepting  ex- 


90  THE  MODERN  II AGAR. 

cuse  and  apology  as  things  of  small  moment, 
and  the  gracious  effort  he  made  to  reconcile  his 
old  antagonist — to  herself — did  not  tend  to  sweet- 
en Carson's  temper.  Internally  he  even  swore 
at  Leszinksky  for  his  courteous  show  of  interest 
in  his  daughter's  interlocutor.  With  an  uncon- 
cealed expression  of  disgusted  disapproval  he 
was  about  to  leave  in  search  of  his  consoler 
when  he  suddenly  recollected  a  forgotten  ap- 
pointment— a  reason  for  interrupting  Rue's  col- 
loquy. There  w^as  a  very  apparent  spice  of  mal- 
ice in  his  eagerness  of  speech  : 

"Excuse  me,  Rue.  But  some  one  is  waiting 
in  Dr.  Carisbrooke' s  study  to  see  you — some 
one  I  think  you  will  be  glad  to  see.  A  detach- 
ment from  the  old  regiment  arrived  at  Newport 
to-day." 

At  the  new^s  of  *'some  one  waiting"  Rue 
turned  to  make  her  excuses  to  Bradnor  ;  but  the 
words,  "a  detachment  from  the  old  regiment," 
swept  away  all  other  thought.  She  was  in  the 
hallway  when  she  met  Oscar. 

"  Who  is  in  the  study  to  see  me,  Oscar  ? " 

"  Nobody  now,  Miss  Rue.  Marse  Bob  Stearns 
was  thar  a  long  time  waitin',  but  he  thought  at 
las'  may  be  you  couldn't  come,     I  think  he  was 


^^KING  STAN:'  91 

kinder  hurt,  Miss  Rue.  He's  jes'  started  back  to 
tlie  garrison  with  Major  Carson's  liorse.  The 
major  ain't  goin'  thar  to-night." 

"  How  long  has  lie  been  gone  ? " 

"I'se  jes'  been  helpin'  him  with  his  bosses  at 
the  stable  ;  he  ain't  more  'an  got  out  the  gate." 

"  Go  after  him  !  Run,  Oscar  !  Run  !  Bring 
him  back  to  me  !  "  They  had  both  reached  the 
door  while  she  was  speaking.  She  pulled  it  shut 
behind  her.  Oscar  was  already  at  the  gate,  she 
calling  after  him,  "  Faster  !     0  Oscar,  faster  !  " 

Through  the  fading  twilight  she  could  see  the 
strong,  active  runner  fairly  flying  down  the  road 
toward  the  city.  A  light  snow  was  falling,  which 
the  wind  caught  and  whirled  in  feathery  col- 
umns. She  stood  for  a  moment  or  two  on  the 
steps,  the  fleecy  folds  of  her  white  evening  dress 
seeming  a  part  of  the  drifting  snow.  Unable  to 
restrain  her  impatience,  she  ran  down  to  the  gate 
and  then  through  it  into  the  road  to  watch  Os- 
car. Yes,  he  had  overtaken  the  rider,  who  was 
forced  to  go  slowly  with  the  spirited  horse  he 
was  leading. 

Oscar  had  mounted  the  led  horse,  and  they 
were  coming  back  in  a  gallop.  They  saw  her 
waiting  in  the  road.    A  soldier  muffled  in  a  di-a- 


02  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

goon's  cloak  shouted:  ^'Capin  Rue!  O  Capin 
Rue  !  out  here  in  this  snow  !"  And  he  sprang 
to  the  ground  beside  her.  Through  sobs  and 
laughter,  laughter  and  sobs,  she  was  crying  : 

"O  Bob  !  O  Bob  !  I  did  not  know  you  were 
here.  I  did  not  know  you  w^ere  waiting.  For- 
give me,  Bob.     O  Bob  !  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad." 

Without  a  word  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
lifted  her  to  the  saddle,  wrapping  her  in  the 
cape  he  took  from  his  shoulders.  Then,  walk- 
ing beside  her,  he  led  the  horse  to  the  little  shel- 
tered XDorch  upon  which  Dr.  Carisbrooke' s  study 
door  opened.  Throwing  Oscar  the  reins,  he  lift- 
ed her  down  and  carried  her  in.  As  he  placed 
her  in  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire  he  said  : 

"  You  oughtn't  to  a-done  it,  Capin  Rue.  No, 
Capin  Rue,  you  oughtn't  to  a-done  it.  I  didn't 
think  I  ever  would  a-been  sorry  to  see  you, 
capin,  but  I'd  a-ruther  had  nine-and-tliirty  on 
my  bar'  back  than  to  a-seen  you  out  thar  in  this 
weather.  An'  it's  my  fault,  cajun.  If  you  war 
to  die  'twould  be  my  fault.  I  w^ar  a  fool — a 
cussed,  onery  fool ;  beg  your  pardon,  capin,  but 
I  can't  help  a-sayin'  it.  That's  jes  what  I  war. 
I  mought  a-knowed  it  war  a  mistake.  I  ought 
to  a-knowed  you  better,  and  yoii  a  Leszinksky." 


-KIXG  STAXr  93 

She  was  quieted  now,  but  she  was  very  pale, 
and  she  breathed  in  little,  gasj^ing  sighs,  each 
one  of  which  pierced  Bob  like  a  knife  He  knelt 
down  beside  her,  and,  warming  the  rug,  wraj^ped 
it  about  her  feet,  looking  up  at  her  with  a  wist- 
ful, Avatchful  look  of  sympathy.  She  threw 
back  the  cape  and  extended  her  hands. 

^'I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  Bob— so  glad!  I 
don't  think  I  have  ever  quite  left  the  regiment, 
Bob.  Half  of  mv  heart  has  always  been  Avith 
you  all  out  there  on  the  plains.  How  could  you 
think  I  would  forget — that  I  did  not  care  ?  Did 
you  think  I  had  forgotten  how  you  followed  me 
into  the  Comanche  country  ?  Did  you  think  I 
could  forget  Pike  ?  or  Bouie'  s  Hill  and  those  we 
lost  there  1  Did  you  think  I  had  forgotten  my 
chief,  or  how  you  fought  to  save  him  ?  My 
chief  !  my  chief  ! — could  I  forget  my  chief  '\ " 

She  was  sobbing  bitterly  and  Bob  was  blubber- 
ing like  a  whipped  school-boy.  There  was  a 
scraping  of  feet  at  the  outer  door,  and  then  some 
one  knocked.  Mastering  her  sobs.  Rue  rose 
from  her  chair  as  she  motioned  to  Bob  to  open 
the  door.  It  was  Oscar.  The  two  men  stood 
back  in  the  shadow  waiting.  Rue  was  standing 
by  the  open  fire,  putting  first  one  and  then  the 


94  THE  MODERN  II AGAR. 

other  little  slippered  foot  on  the  fender  to  dry. 
Carson  came  in,  and  she  asked  : 

''  Cannot  Bob  put  up  the  horses  and  stay  here 
to-night  ?    I  wish  to  see  liim  in  the  morning." 

^'Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  Rue." 

*' Good-night,  Bob.  Oscar  will  see  that  you 
are  comfortable  for  the  night."  She  gave  him 
her  hand,  which  he  kissed  with  the  strange  de- 
light and  awe  with  which  he  liad  kissed  her  baby 
fingers  when  he  first  touched  them  ;  that  was 
years  ago  at  the  time  he  was  so  nearly  drowned 
saving  her  and  her  mother. 

When  the  men  were  gone  Hue  bid  Carson 
''good-night,"  saying  she  would  go  to  her  room. 

Oscar  sent  Mammy  Sara  to  her,  and  the  child 
— in  many  ways  she  was  yet  but  a  child — was 
warmed  and  hushed  to  sleep  upon  the  faithful 
breast  that  had  been  her  shelter  in  her  mother- 
less babyhood. 

Carson  made  her  excuses  to  the  Carisbrookes 
and  told  Leszinksky  of  her  interview  with  Bob. 
Neither  spoke  the  thought  aloud,  but  that  last 
scene  in  her  life  at  Bouie's  Hill  was  the  picture 
that  came  out  of  the  past. 

The  wind  had  died  away  after  wrapping  Rue 
in  its  fieecy  gathering,  nnd  frozen  drops  from  the 


"KING  STANr  95 

vaporous  clouds  had  fallen  steadily  until  day- 
break. Then  the  sun  came  out  and  every  little 
particle  lying  in  the  sheeted  fields  reflected  the 
broken  rays,  until  the  air  was  luminous  and  the 
world  a-dazzle  with  the  white  radiance  of  the 
snow.  In  the  morning  Rue  had  a  long,  quiet 
talk  with  Bob  before  he  went  over  to  the  garrison. 

After  Bob  was  gone  she  asked  Mammy  Sara 
where  he  had  slept — she  was  thoughtful  of  the 
comfort  of  this  dear  friend.  She  was  told  that 
Mrs.  Carisbrooke  had  given  Oscar  the  key  of  the 
little  cottage  in  the  orchard.  Rue  remembered 
that  Lucy  had  lived  there,  and  she  knew  Lucy 
had  never  returned  to  Rosebank  since  she  was  in 
Philadelphia  nearly  two  years  before,  the  sum- 
mer she  nursed  Mai  Hilton. 

Then  she  remembered  her  new  resolve,  and  so 
Mai  Hilton  was  surprised  by  generous  and  deli- 
cate kindness,  which  kindness,  w^ith  her  usual 
penetration,  Miss  Hilton  translated  into  jealousy. 

One  bit  of  news  in  that  day's  letter  to  Rachel 
Pyle  was  :  ''  Rue  Leszinksky  is  desperately  in 
love  with  Mr.  Bradnor  and  nearly  wild  through 
her  jealousy  of  me.  She  has  found  that  her 
pride  hurts  no  one  but  herself,  and  now  she 
plays  sweetness." 


96  THE  MODERN  IIAGAR. 

The  wedding  guests  were  assembling  ;  the  day 
was  one  of  mild  expectancy.  There  was  feast- 
ing, and  drinking,  and  music,  and  dancing,  and 
smiles,  and  laughter.  But  Erinnys  was  ready 
to  cut  the  threads  of  a  nation's  life.  She  must 
have  let  go  some  cobwebby  spinning  of  lesser 
moment ;  liow  else  can  I  explain  the  thrown- 
away  tangle  Bob  and  Oscar  found  in  the  cottage 
that  had  been  so  long  tenantless  ? 

Molly  Carisbrooke  was  no  longer  Molly  Caris- 
brooke.  A  reverend  bishop — whose  good  life, 
now  that  he  is  dead,  keeps  his  memory  green  in 
the  hearts  of  the  many  that  loved  liini; — pro- 
nounced the  nuiDtial  benediction.  Beautiful  wo- 
men and  brave  men  assisted  at  the  ceremony. 
But  beauty  withers  in  the  long  days  of  mourn- 
ing, and  the  brave  ^vill  fall  in  the  storm  of  battle 
like  leaves  in  the  autumn  woods. 

O  dread  Erinnys !  It  is  well  that  you  dwell  in 
those  awful  regions  with  the  grim  terror-breed- 
ing Shades,  and  that  your  spinning  is  unseen  of 
mortals. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  This  point  is,  to  be  sure,  a  very  delicate  one  to  treat ;  for  m  -^rords, 
at  least,  the  age  has  grown  to  be  wonderfully  moral.  .  .  .  But  human  na- 
ture, as  far  as  I  am  able  to  learn,  has  not  much  changed  since  the  time 
\rhen  Richardson  wrote  and  Hogarth  painted  a  century  ago." 

TFIE  morning  after  the  marriage  the  short  dis- 
tance of  Carson's  wedding- journey  was  ac- 
complished in  an  hours  drive.  Ke  had  been 
on  leave  of  absence  nearly  all  the  previous  sum- 
mer. The  changes  in  the  disposition  of  the  few 
regiments  that  were  not  actually  needed  in  Utah 
and  New  Mexico,  and  the  movement  of  troops 
in  view  of  the  threatening  state  of  affairs  in 
South  Carolina,  made  it  difficult  for  Carson  to 
ask  or  obtain  fresh  leave.  But  Molly  had  al- 
ready taken  her  place  as  helper.  She  decided 
that  they  would  go  from  Rosebank  to  Carson's 
quarters  in  the  garrison.  She  so  strenuously  in- 
sisted upon  her  preference  for  IS'ewport  that  Car- 
son delightedly  yielded  to  her  decision. 

Mrs.  Hartley,  Miss  Hilton,  Roane,  and  Brad- 
nor  left  the  same  morning  for  Washington. 
•  The  Leszinkskys,   Carson's  son,  and  Carson's 

97 


98  THE  MODERN  HAG  AM. 

sister,  Mrs.  McCormack,  were  tlie  only  visitors 
left  at  Rosebank,  and  Mrs.  McCormack  was  to 
meet  lier  liiisbancl  at  tlie  station  for  tlie  evening 
train. 

Dominie  McCormack  liad  left  Eosebank  im- 
mediately after  an  early  breakfast.  He  had  af- 
fairs of  moment  that  needed  his  attention  in  the 
office  of  Friend  Fisher. 

It  had  cost  the  honest  zealot  the  sacrifice  of 
what  he  regarded  as  valuable  time  and  a  painfnl 
effort  at  onter  adornment  to  come  to  the  wedding 
of  his  wife's  brother.  Not  that  the  dominie  felt 
the  slightest  embarrassment  over  past  difficul- 
ties. The  time  when,  according  to  his  judgment, 
though  physically  vanquished,  he  was  morally 
victor  in  his  combat  with  principalities  and 
powers,  had  left  him  comforting,  not  mortify- 
ing, recollections.  He  had  simply  gone  through 
the  tribulations  to  which  the  just  are  called.  He 
had  suffered  for  conscience'  sake,  for  which  he 
had  an  indwelling  sense  of  triumph  and — that 
rarest  and  most  perfect  bliss  to  a  bigot — the  feel- 
ing that  he  had  been  a  martyr  to  his  beliefs. 

He  had  rather  a  feeling  of  gratitude  than  re- 
sentment to  those  who  had,  however  uninten- 
tionally, lifted  liim  to  eminence  in  the  categorv 


of  witnesses  who  testify  to  truth  through  the 
shedding  of  their  blood.  Moreover,  when  you 
could  get  through  the  crusts  that  covered  it,  the 
dominie  had  a  Idndly  disposition. 

Thus  the  things  which  would  have  kept  a 
resentful  or  sullen  tenix)er  at  slumberous  heat 
brought  forth  the  dominie' s  friendliness. 

The  invitation  to  Carson's  wedding  was  the 
holding  out  of  an  olive-branch  which  seemed  to 
him  an  amend,  if  not  an  apology,  for  the  time 
when  Carson  had  blazed  out  in  fierce  and  profane 
words  in  a  letter  which  threatened  the  dominie 
with  personal  chastisement — words  of  unholy 
and  irreverent  anger,  that  had  made  no  more  im- 
pression than  would  a  passing  blast  of  sounding 
trumpets  and  tinkling  cymbals.  For  the  domi- 
nie had  never  been  self- convicted  of  wrong  in  the 
punishment  inflicted  upon  his  wife's  nephew. 
He  had  himself  been  trained  to  a  virtuous  and 
orthodox  manhood  through  the  same  argument ; 
a  fortiori^  why  should  he  not  apply  it  to 
others  1 

As  to  Rue,  the  dominie  felt  there  could  be  no 
doubt  that  she  was  the  aggressor.  Had  she  not 
ansv/ered  words  of  wisdom  and  truth  with  the 
application  of  an  instrument  to  the  magisterial 


100  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

cranium,  that  came  near  trepanning  him  without 
help  of  surgery  or  benefit  of  clergy  ? 

When  the  olive-branch  was  handed  the  domi- 
nie he  asked  his  wife,  as  he  had  often  asked 
himself :  "  Why  should  the  just  chastisement  of 
an  obstinate  boy  and  a  warning  shake  given  to 
an  impertinent  little  minx"— he  was  not  classi- 
cally clioice  in  his  selection  of  words,  but  he  did 
have  a  hearty  liking  for  strong  old  English — 
"  keep  us  from  friendly  relationship  or  from  ac- 
ceptance of  this  invitation? — though  you  must 
excuse  me  for  saying,  my  dear,  that  I  consider 
your  brother  an  unreasonable  and  profane  blas- 
phemer." 

After  thus  relieving  his  mind  of  its  burden  of 
condemnation  the  dominie  was  silently  acqui- 
escent to  the  note  and  burden  of  preparation. 
Punctually  at  the  hour  named  the  McCormacks 
arrived  at  Rosebank  and  the  Carisbrookes  made 
them  welcome. 

The  dominie  was  amiable,  I  might  even  say 
conciliating,  to  his  old  young  antagonists  and 
their  respective  progenitors.  At  the  dancing  he 
blew  his  arched  j^roboscis  with  a  note  of  defiant 
displeasure,  but  he  did  wisely  manage  to  hold 
his  tongue  from  further  utterance.      Mentally  he 


''KING  stan:'  101 

disapproved  of  many  things  he  saw,  but  he  most 
cordially  approved  of  the  supper.  His  '"isms" 
had  not  interfered  with  his  digestion  or  made 
him  a  dyspeptic,  as  'isms  of  their  class  are  wont 
to  do.  His  twists  were  in  his  brain,  not  in  his 
stomach.  The  last  had  a  keen  and  sensitive  de- 
light in  the  things  of  the  flesh  ;  and,  happily, 
his  next  neighbor  at  the  table  was  a  divine 
of  his  own  persuasion,  celebrated  as  a  contro- 
versialist and  distinguished  as  an  epicure.  Thus 
the  conversation  was  much  to  the  dominie's 
taste,  and  the  interruptions  to  conversation 
equally  agreeable  to  his  palate.  Fortunately  for 
his  hosts,  the  frame  of  mind  begotten  of  this 
doubled  iDleasure  kept  the  dominie  in  a  ra- 
diantly agreeable  mood  until  he  was  shown  to 
his  room. 

Then,  as  the  gods  of  discord  would  have  it, 
Oscar  was  usher.  To  the  Rev.  Mr.  McCormack 
a  negro  was  always  an  interrogation-point,  or 
rather  tlie  finger-post  of  destiny  in  the  march  of 
the  universe.  Mrs.  McCormack  had  remained 
downstairs  with  the  revellers,  so  Oscar's  stay 
was  prolonged  with  offer  of  service.  As  "the 
man  and  the  brother ' '  drew  off  the  new  boots, 
which  had  been  the  crumpled  rose-leaves  in  the 


102  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

evening  of  the  epicurean  reformer,  lie  commenced 
questioning : 

"  Were  you  born  a  slave  or  a  freeman  ?  " 

"Me,  sail?" 

' '  Yes  ;  were  you  born  free  ? ' ' 

"I  belongs  to  Marse  Stan,  sail." 

''What!!!" 

Half  frightened  by  the  tone,  Oscar  added,  in 
his  most  suave  and  apologetic  manner  : 

"To  Major  Leszinksky,  sah.  I  was  lef  to 
him  from  the  Masons,  sah — the  Masons  of  Mount 
Hope.  Doctor  Carisbrooke  was  kin  to  'em. 
Marse  Stan's  mother  was  a  Mason,  and  his 
grandfather,  old  Judge  Mason,  raised  me,  sah." 

' '  You  mean  you  are  a  slave  ?  " 

"Yes,  sail ;  I  belongs  to  Marse  Stan." 

"  And  he  brought  you  to  Ohio  ?  " 

' '  Oh  !  yes,  sah.  He  hardly  ever  goes  any whar, 
sail,  without  Oscar — leastways  when  I  can  be 
spar'd  from  home." 

There  was  a  ring  of  pride  and  triumph  in  the 
last  words.  And  Oscar  looked  at  his  interroga- 
tor as  if  he  could  say  more  but  modesty  for- 
bade. 

"You  unfortunate  and  cruelly  oppressed  vic- 
tim, you  unhappy  slave  !    your  rufRanly  tyrant 


''KING  STAN."  x03 

must  and  shall  release  his  unlawful  hold.  You 
were  made  free  the  instant  you  touched  this 
blessed  soiL,  coming  as  you  did  with  his  know- 
ledge and  consent." 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  none  o'  them 
folks,  sah.     I  belong,  sah,  to  Major  Leszinksky." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  do  not  know  what 
freedom  is— that  you  are  willing  to  remain  a 
slave?" 

' '  I  know  plenty  of  free  niggers,  sah  ;  I'  ve  seen 
'em  mostly  in  the  North,  sah,  but  we  has  got  a 
few  in  Virginia.  But  me  ?  I  was  raised  by  old 
Judge  Mason.  I  belong  to  that  family,  sah — 
one  of  the  very  best,  sah,  in  the  State." 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,  my  poor  friend. 
I  mean  to  tell  you  that  the  instant  you  came  into 
Ohio  with  your  master's  knowledge  and  consent 
you  were  free.  The  law  frees  you.  Do  you 
not  want  to  be  free  ? ' ' 

"  I  ain't  never  studied  'bout  that,  sir.  But  if 
you  means  do  I  want  to  leave  Marse  Stan,  sah, 
or  my  Miss  Rue,  or  the  family,  sah — no,  sah  !  I 
was  raised  with  Marse  Stan,  sah.  Why,  this 
fam'ly  wouldn't  sell  me,  sah,  for  all  the  money 
anybody  mought  offer.  No,  sir ;  no  nioney 
wouldn't  buy  me,  sah," 


104  THE  MODERN  HAG  Ah'. 

''But  you  can  leave  them.  I  will  put  on  my 
boots  and  go  with  you  this  night  to  Friend 
Fisher.  He' s  an  anti-slavery  law^yer ;  you  can 
be  free  to-morrow." 

"  1  ain't  got  no  'casion,  sah,  to  go  to  no  Marse 
Friend  Fisher.  I  wouldn't  leave  Marse  Stan  no 
more  'ner  he'd  sell  me,  sah." 

"But  do  you  prefer  to  be  a  slave  ?  Have  you 
no  sense  of  manhood  ?  Do  you  not  want  your 
freedom  ?  And  your  wife  and  children — would 
you  not  have  them  free?" 

"  I  ain't  got  no  children,  and  my  wife  was — " 

He  stopped  abruptly  as  the  sore  spot  in  his  life 
w^as  touched.  "Words  would  have  been  impotent, 
even  if  he  could  have  told  of  his  marriage  with 
Lucy,  and  how  and  why  he  lost  her.  Speech 
was  impossible  ;  but  the  gleaming  eyes  and  the 
pose  of  the  tall,  strong  figure,  with  the  clenched 
fists  and  the  head  thrown  back  until  the  swollen 
muscles  were  brought  into  full  relief,  expressed 
a  grief  so  deej)  that  it  was  speechless.* 


*  The  ston-  of  Oscar,  which  is  only  indistinctly  outlined  here  from  the 
necessities  of  the  drama,  is  fully  told  in  "  Baby  Rue."'  The  author  would 
like,  if  it  were  possible,  to  write  again  the  narrative  of  the  life  of  the  Les- 
zinkskys  on  the  plains,  and  of  the  ucble  devotion  of  the  black  man  who, 
alone  with  Bob  Stearns,  followed  his  master's  child,  when  she  had  been 
captured  by  the  Pawnees,  into  the  heart  of  the  Indian  country. 


''KING  ST  an:'  105 

*'Sold  aAvay  from  yon?  I  knew  it!  Taken, 
possibly,  for  a  concubine.  A  slave's  wife  is  not 
Ms  ;  slie  belongs  to  his  master.  Your  master 
robbed  you  of  your  wife  !  " 

"  What ! "  The  negro  advanced  threateningly 
and  the  dominie  retreated  rapidly  toward  the 
door.     But  Oscar  stopped. 

''  You  don't  know  Marse  Stan,  sah,  so  I  won't 
take  no  'count  o'  what  you  said.  He  would  no 
more  a-took  my  wife,  sah,  than  he  would  take 
yourn — an'  she' s  Marse  Carson' s  sister,  an'  Marse 
Carson's  like  a  brother  to  him,  sah.  But  me? 
AVhy,  my  mammy  nussed  him  when  she  nussed 
me.  Why,  he'  d— yes,  sah— die  to  keep  me  from 
bein'  put  upon  and  wronged,  Marse  Stan  hurt 
me?  Marse  Stan!  You  don't  know  Marse 
Stan.  An'  you'se  made  a  mistake,  sah,  'bout 
me."  And  Oscar  strode  out  of  the  room  without 
waiting  for  dismissal. 

The  next  morning  after  his  early  breakfast  the 
dominie  asked  for  Leszinksky.  He  told  him 
frankly  how  he  had  questioned  Oscar,  and  his 
determination  to  take  advantage  of  his  having 
brought  Oscar  into  the  State.  He  said  he  was 
not  yet  satisfied  that  the  slave  understood  his 
rights,    and   that  he  intended  to    send    Friend 


lOG  THE  MODERN  HA  GA  R. 

Fisher  up  to  see  and  question  him,  but  that 
after  Oscar's  testimony  to  his  master  s  Idndness 
he  thought  it  only  right  to  be  frank. 

Leszinksky  thanked  him  for  the  complimen- 
tary confidence,  and  pledged  his  word  that 
Friend  Fisher  might  talk  as  long  as  he  liked 
with  Oscar,  or  at  least  as  long  as  Oscar  would 
listen,  adding  that  Oscar  might  decide  the  ques- 
tion of  freedom  for  himself. 

Coming  into  the  library  half  an  hour  later,  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke  was  astonished  to  find  the  dominie  a 
pleased  listener  to  Leszinksky,  who  was  earnest- 
ly discussing  with  him  the  possibilities  and  fu- 
ture of  the  negro  race.  They  differed  vridely  in 
views  and  methods,  but  Leszinksky's  courtesy 
was  conquering  the  dominie's  prejudice  when 
Roane  appeared,  and  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  managed 
to  inveigle  him  into  the  discussion.  I  am  not 
sure  her  malice  was  not  more  sj)ecially  aimed 
at  Roane  than  the  dominie.  But  when  the  doc  • 
tor  and  Carson  came  down  Leszinksky  was  a 
silent  listener  and  the  wordy  war  was  hot  and 
bitter. 

The  dominie  took  leave,  and  in  the  afternoon 
Friend  Fisher  came  and  interrogated  Oscar. 
Then  he  had  a  long  interview  with  Oscar's  mas- 


''KING  STAN."  107 

ter,  and  left  in  a  rather  depressed  and  contem- 
plative mood. 

Rue  spent  the  day  shopping  in  the  city  with 
Mammy  Sara  and  Stanislaus  Carson.  Steenie 
was  out  with  the  doctor.  After  luncheon  and 
after  Friend  Fisher's  visit  Leszinksky  was  alone 
in  the  library,  writing,  when  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 
opened  the  door. 

'' You  are  busy  ? " 

' '  Something  that  can  wait.  I  will  be  very  glad 
to  put  the  writing  aside  and  talk  with  you." 

"  Then  I  will  come  in,  for  I  have  something  to 
say." 

Leszinksky  placed  a  low  easy-chair  on  one  side 
of  the  open  fireplace  and  arranged  a  screen  to 
shade  the  face  of  the  lady,  who,  busied  with 
some  knitting- work,  seemed  to  forget  the  "some- 
thing to  say,-'  although  the  willing  listener  was 
seated  opposite,  waiting. 

''What  fascination  there  is  in  knitting!  It 
always  seems  to  charm  women.  Is  it  the  weav- 
ing of  meshes  or  the  playing  with  steel  that  is 
the  attraction  ?  Or  are  you  conscious  that  your 
beautiful  hands  are  shown  at  their  best  in  the 
flash  of  the  long,  slender  needles  and  in  the  rosy 
glow  of  the  firelight  in  that  crimson  wool  ?" 


108  THE  310DERX  HA  OA  R. 

**Tlie  exliibition  and  the  i)leased  vanity,  of 
course." 

''  Which  acceptance  of  motive  your  tone  de- 
nies. But  you  know  you  have  beautiful  liands  ; 
and  why  should  you  not  wish  them  to  be  seen  ? " 

*'Did  that  coxcomb  Bradnor  bite  you  before 
he  left  ?  I  never  knew  you  to  talli:  folly  before. 
Isn't  it  rather  late  for  you  io  bloom  out  in  such 
flower  r'  She  was  so  evidently  nettled  that 
he  laughed  ;  then  she  laid  aside  her  work  with 
an  affectation  of  great  carefulness,  at  which  he 
laughed  afresh. 

"Stan,  I  do  not  like  to  be  rude  to  you,  but 
silliness  in  you  is  so  unexpected  that  it  puts  me 
out  of  temper.  Moreover,  I  wished  to  consult 
you  about  something  which  is  serious  and  which 
worries  me." 

His  manner  was  instantly  attentive  and  sym- 
pathetic : 

"  I  am  serious  ;  and  you  know  I  am  always  at 
your  service." 

"  I  sent  Oscar  night  before  last  to  the  cottage 
in  the  orchard  with  that  soldier  from  the  gar- 
rison. The  servants'  quarters  as  well  as  the 
house  were  crowded.  There  was  no  other  place 
to  give  the  man.     Lucy  had  ])een  away  so  long 


''KING  STAN."  109 

that  it  seemed  needless  to  keep  it  always  unoc- 
cupied— though  the  furniture  is  Lucy's  own,  and 
I  have  always  respected  her  right  to  her  home. 
Carisbrooke  had  it  repaired  and  j)ut  in  order  for 
Lucy.  She  seemed  happier  out  there,  and  she 
had  nothing  in  common  with  our  servants.  There 
are  two  rooms  and  a  roughly-finished  shed. 
Every  time  Lucy  vanishes  I  find  the  front-door 
key  left  in  my  basket.  She  always  takes  with 
her  the  key  out  of  the  padlock  which  fastens  the 
back  door,  or  else  hides  it  somewhere  in  the  shed. 
When  she  returns  from  one  of  her  long  absences 
she  always  goes  to  the  cottage  before  coming  to 
the  house  ;  and,  as  you  know,  we  never  speak  of 
her  absence.  She  simply  resumes  her  i)lace  in 
the  household. ' 

''  I  had  given  the  key  of  the  front  door  to  Os- 
car. I  did  not  think  of  his  relationship  to  Lucy  ; 
I  had  forgotten  it.  An  hour  later  I  met  him  in 
the  hall  near  the  dining-room.  I  think  he  was 
going  to  your  room.  I  knew  you  had  gone  to 
your  room.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  made  a  fire 
in  the  cottage,  and  if  it  was  in  order,  or  did  he 
need  anything  ?  He  hesitated,  and  I  questioned 
Inm  sharply,  and  then  he  told  me  that  the  house 
had  been  opened  before  they  went  out  there.    He 


110  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

found  a  fire  nearly  burned  out  in  tlie  stove.  I 
said,  'Lucy  must  have  come  back,'  and  he  an- 
swered, 'Yes,  madam,  Lucy  is  here.  She's 
somewhere  in  the  house  here  now.'  He  seemed 
intensely  eager  and  excited,  which  made  me  re- 
member all  of  Lucy's  story.     So  I  asked : 

*'  'Do  you  want  a  place  for  the  soldier?  If 
that  is  it  you  must  make  a  pallet  for  him  in  the 
doctor's  study.  Where  is  he?'  He  told  me 
the  man  was  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  bade  him  go 
vrith  him  to  the  outside  door  of  the  study.  When 
I  opened  the  study  door  Oscar  started  to  go  into 
the  hall.  I  told  him  that  Major  Carson  was  with 
you,  and  again  I  asked  what  he  wanted.  Then 
he  said  he  wanted  to  see  Lucy.  I  told  him  I 
would  see  if  she  was  in  the  hoitse.  I  left  them 
in  the  study,  intending  to  speak  to  Carisbrooke, 
but  Carisbrooke  w^as  Avitli  you. 

"  Now,  no  one  has  told  me,  but  I  know  Mai  Hil- 
ton is  Lucy's  child.  I  thought  instantly  Lucy 
was  in  Kate's  room.  Mai  Hilton  roomed  with 
Kate. 

"  As  I  passed  Molly's  door  I  heard  Kate  talk- 
ing with  Molly.  Rue  was  asleep,  so  I  knew  that 
Mai  Hilton  must  be  alone.  But  as  I  knocked  at 
her  door  I  heard  voices.     They  did  not  hear  me. 


^^KING  stan:'  111 

Before  I  could  knock  again  the  door  was  partly 
opened  and  Lucy  stood  on  the  threshold,  looking 
back  with  a  wild,  scared  expression  into  the  room. 
I  heard  Mai  Hilton  say  :  'N'ever  come  to  me  with 
that  lie  again.  I  detest,  I  abhor  you  !  I  would 
take  my  own  life  if  I  thought  I  was  your  child  ! ' 
Lucy's  hands  were  now  clasped  and  extended  to 
the  girl  in  piteous  entreaty.  I  never  saw  such 
an  expression  of  suffering,  agonized  mother- 
hood. I  suppose  I  did  wrong,  but  I  could  not 
help  it  ;  the  feeling  for  Lucy,  sj^mpathy  for 
her  lonely  life,  recollection  of  her  suffering,  of 
her  half-insanity,  made  me  identify  Mai  with 
Hartley.  One  had  robbed  Lucy,  the  other  de- 
nied her. 

"  I  took  Lucy's  hand  and  led  her  up  to  Mai, 
saying :  '  She  is  your  mother.  You  were  taken 
from  her.  She  was  robbed  of  her  child  and  sold 
as  a  slave.  She  never  deserted  you  or  consented 
to  give  you  away.  Lucy  will  not  ruin  your  po- 
sition in  the  world  by  telling  the  story.  For 
Lucy's  sake  I  will  not  tell  it  to  any  but  one; 
and  that  person  is  not  one  of  my  own  family. 
Molly  does  not  and  shall  not  know.  The  world 
shall  never  know,  but  you  must  acknowledge 
your  mother.     You  must  think  of  her  and  not  of 


113  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

yourself.  She  has  suffered  cruelly  for  you  and 
because  of  you.     She  is  your  mother ! ' 

"Lucy  had  fallen  on  her  knees  at  the  girl's 
feet.  The  girl  is  a  Hoyt.  I  had  thought  her  all 
Hartley  until  that  moment.  But  she  is  akin  to 
her  grandfather  the  gambler.  She  faced  me  with- 
out a  tremor,  saying:  ^I  know  you  have  never 
liked  me  and  that  you  are  willing  to  humiliate 
me.  But  I  do  not  think  you  would  lie.  What 
proof  is  there  that  this  woman  is  my  mother?' 
I  told  her  the  plain,  unvarnished  truth,  saying: 
'  She  belonged  to  the  first  Mrs.  Leszinksky,  who 
was,  as  you  know,  a  Cartaret.  Mrs.  Leszinksky 
sold  her  to  Major  Hartley  when  you  w^ere  born, 
that  3^our  father  might  free  you  both.  Major 
Hartley  is  your  father.  Mrs.  Cartaret  gave  you 
the  name  of  her  first  husband. 

''  'Your  mother  refused  to  give  you  up,  and 
your  father  sold  her  to  a  negro-trader.  Major 
Leszinksky  forced  your  father  to  redeem  her  and 
free  her.'  The  girl  looked  me  steadily  in  the 
eyes  as  the  tale  w^as  told.  Lucy  w-as  prone 
upon  the  fioor  wath  her  arms  about  the  girl's 
knees.  Suddenly  Mai  stooped  and  lifted  Lucy's 
head,  and  tho  two  faces  were  close  together. 
'  Yes,'  she  said,    '  I  believe  you  are  my  mother, 


'*Kijsra  STAX.''  113 

but  I  will  not  live  to  acknowledge  it.  If  you 
prove  this  disgrace  ujwn  me  you  will  drive  me  to 
my  death.'  Without  a  word  Lucy  got  up  on  her 
feet.  She  kissed  the  girl' s  hands.  I  knew,  and 
Mai  knew,  that  her  mother  had  given  up  all 
claim,  that  it  Avas  their  last  parting.  Once  more 
the  girl  spoke  :  '  I  am  sorry  for  you — for  your 
sake  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  your  child — but  I 
swear  that  the  man  who  has  caused  you  to  suf- 
fer and  caused  me  this  torture  shall  i^ay  dearly 
for  it.  I  never  wish  to  look  upon  your  face 
again ;  but  I  am  sorry  for  you.'  Lucy  silently 
came  with  me  from  the  room.  I  went  with  her 
to  the  cottage  and  left  her  there  with  Kate's 
maid.  We  had  met  Rose  in  the  hall,  and  I 
knew  that  Rose  had  recognized  Lucy,  Some  one 
must  stay  with  Lucy,  and  I  thought  it  had  better 
be  Rose.  It  was  well  that  Rose  was  there  and 
that  Oscar  was  watching  the  cottage — for  Oscar 
did  watch.  Before  morning  Lucy  had  one  of 
those  frightful  attacks.  And  she  is  now  in  such 
a  condition  that  €arisbrooke  thinks  it  will  be  nec- 
essary to  send  her  to  an  asylum.  I  knew  Rose 
would  tell  Kate,  so  I  told  her  that  night.  She 
was  with  Lucy  nearly  all  yesterday  and  part  of 
last  night.     A  nurse  came  from  Longview  y ester- 


114  THE  MODERN  HA  GA  R. 

day,  and  Oscar  is  almost  constantly  in  tlie  next 
room.  He  is  often  needed,  for  she  is  violent. 
Carisbrooke  and  I  both  thonght  it  best  to  keep 
the  story  from  you  until  after  Molly  and  Car- 
son were  gone.  Besides,  Kate  asked  me  not  to 
tell  yon  while  they  were  here." 

''  Was  Miss  Hilton  told  of  her  mother's  situa- 
tion V 

''No;  Kate  said  the  girl  was  suffering  terri- 
bly. It  is  a  horrible  blow  to  her  vanity.  But  I 
assure  you  since  I  saw  the  Hoyt  blood  show  in 
her  I  think  better  of  her.  It  was  not  a  mere 
threat  that  she  made  of  death.  I  saw  she  meant 
it,  and  that  if  driven  to  extremes  she  would  keep 
her  word." 

"I  must  go  to  Oscar,"  said  Leszinksky,  ris- 
ing. 

' '  Yes,  I  think  it  will  be  well ;  there  is  a  look 
in  his  face  that  frightens  me.  Did  you  ever 
think  that  he  might  kill  Captain  Hartley  ? ' ' 

'■^  Oscar  once  expressed  a  fear  that  he  would,  to 
Margaret ;  and  Carson  believed  that  he  would 
have  done  so  if  he  had  not  been  sent  away.  If 
the  dominie  knew  what  Avould  be  the  result  of 
Oscar  s  being  made  free  I  do  not  think  he  would 
have  sent  Friend  Fisher  to  ask  for  so  doubtful  a 


'KING  STAN.''  115 

boon .     Has  Carisbrooke  decided  when  Lucy  is  to 

be  moved?" 

"  Yes  ;  she  will  go  to  Longview  to-morrow." 
''I  am  glad  of  that.     I  could  not  take  Oscar 

away  while  she  was  here  and  he  could  be  of  use. 

But  when  she  is  gone  I  must  get  him  home  at 

once." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

"  Bounded  the  fiery  steed  in  air, 
The  rider  sate  erect  and  fair, 
Then  like  a  bolt  from  steel  crossbow 
Forth  laimch"d  along  the  plain  they  go. 
They  dash'd  the  rapid  torrent  through, 
And  up  Carhonie's  hill  they  flew." 

IT  was  a  quiet,  uneventful  winter  at  "The  Ce- 
dars." Steenie  was  a  pupil  at  tlie  conyent 
in  Kiclimond,  and  Rue  was  reading  indus- 
triously with  her  father.  She  had  objected  to 
going  back  to  Philadelphia,  and  in  the  general 
uncertainty  as  to  public  events  Leszinksky  was 
glad  to  devote  himself  to  his  daughters. 

Every  Friday  afternoon  Rue  and  her  father,  on 
two  of  the  famous  Cartaret  thoroughbreds,  fol- 
lowed by  Oscar  leading  Steenie' s  pony,  arrived 
punctually  at  the  convent  gate— much  to  the  de- 
light of  a  gaping  crowd  of  idle  negroes  and  small 
children — unless  the  weather  was  stormy.  But 
even  then  the  neighborhood  was  no  less  moved ; 
for  the  high -swung  family  coach  with  its  four 
thoroughbreds  and  two  outriders  was  an  equally 
attractive  sensation. 

116 


"KING  STAN."  117 

Outside  of  "The  Cedars"  tlie  world  was  less 
quiet ;  it  marched  to  a  more  martial  strain.  Vir- 
ginia was  still  waiting  and  striving  to  patch  up  a 
peace,  but  in  the  distant  South  ' '  the  sound  of 
the  trumpet  mingled  with  that  of  the  clarion." 

The  cotton  States  had  seceded,  and  their 
senators  and  representatives  had  resigned  the 
places  they  held  at  the  federal  Capitol. 

The  "Peace  Conference,"  which  represented 
all  the  border  States,  had  their  report  summarily- 
voted  down  in  the  Senate,  while  in  the  House  it 
was  contemptuously  refused  reception. 

The  State  of  Virginia  had  called  a  conven- 
tion, which  was  elected  on  the  4th  of  Febru- 
ary. The  majority  of  those  returned  to  this  as- 
sembly were  Union  men.  But  the  action  of  the 
federal  Congress  upon  the  report  of  the  "Peace 
Conference"  had  so  changed  the  feeling  of  the 
State  that  delegates  who  were  sent  as  Unionists 
were  now  ready  to  vote  for  secession.  Then 
came  the  bloodless  affair  at  Sumter,  followed  by 
President  Lincoln's  proclamation  of  the  15th  of 
April  calling  for  seventy-five  thousand  troops. 
And  the  secession  of  Virginia  was  the  immediate 
result. 
.Eoane  made  a  hurried  visit  to  "The  Cedars" 


lis  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

on  his  way  to  Arkansas.  When  Roane  left 
Leszinksky  accompanied  him  as  far  as  Rich- 
mond. 

Roane  only  tarried  a  day  in  the  capital  of 
Virginia,  but  before  he  started  for  Arkansas 
Leszinksky  had  tendered  his  services  to  Gover- 
nor Letcher.  He  was  appointed  lieutenant-colo- 
nel of  one  of  the  first  regiments  raised  in  the 
State.  That  was  the  third  week  in  April.  On 
the  6th  of  May  Virginia  was  admitted  into  the 
*' Southern  Confederacy,"  and  the  regiment  to 
which  Leszinksky  belonged  was  assigned  to  the 
brigade  of  General  Robert  E.  Lee. 

One  perfect  year  had  been  framed  in  the  set- 
ting of  Rue's  stormy  life,  and  then  the  land  was 
aflame  with  War!  The  household  at  *'The 
Cedars  "  was  broken  up. 

Steenie's  home  was  to  be  permanently  in  the 
convent,  and  "Mammy  Sara"  was  to  go  with 
her  delicate  nursling. 

Despite  Leszinksky' s  feebly-expressed  remon- 
strance Rue  decided  for  herself— she  would  fol- 
low his  fortune. 

Rue's  maid  and  Oscar  completed  the  camp 
household.  The  chances  were  that  Leszinksky' s 
regiment  would  not  leave  Virginia,  and  it  would 


'^  KING  STAN."  119 

always  be  easy  to  find  quarters  sufficiently  near 
camp. 

Of  lier  father's  command  Rue  knew  compara- 
tively notliing.  Comradeship  would  have  been 
possible  only  with  the  old  regiment ;  now  that 
old  regiment  was  sure  at  some  time  to  face  them 
in  the  fight.  That  was  the  one  stinging  fact  she 
felt  pierce  the  heart  of  her  patriotism.  Ah !  if 
they  were  only  with  her  how  gladly  would  she 
have  fallen  into  the  old  grooves.  Side  by  side 
with  them  and  her  father,  little  would  she  have 
recked  the  leaden  rain  and  the  iron  thunderbolts 
of  the  battle. 

Of  the  war  only  one  scene  comes  necessarily 
into  our  history. 

In  the  earlier  battles  Colonel  Leszinksky  had 
come  out  unhurt.  The  brigade  to  which  he 
belonged  had  become  accustomed  to  the  little 
group  which  always  waited  near  the  ambu- 
lances. 

A    slight,    pale    girl    with   a   cold,    set    face, 

« 

scarcely  conscious  of  the  impatient  fretting 
of  the  thoroughbred  that  would  have  been  ofl! 
with  every  rattle  of  musketry  had  not  the  hand 
been  as  firm  as  the  face  was  resolute,  was  al- 
ways waiting  there,  attended  only  by  a  groom. 


120  TEE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

A  quick  glance  as  the  wounded  were  brought  out 
of  the  fight,  a  tightened  grasp  of  the  reins,  a 
whitening  of  the  scarlet  lips — no  other  expres- 
sion ;  neither  question  nor  murmur,  always  the 
same  proud,  j)atient  composure  until  the  battle 
ended.  Then  a  rush  forward,  if  it  Avere  possible, 
until  she  joined  a  silvery-haired  officer.  There 
was  a  quick  look  that  for  these  two  had  all  of 
inquiry,  all  of  reply,  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  and 
side  by  side  they  rode  silently  until  they  were 
alone  and  speech  was  unrestrained. 

So  the  time  had  sped ;  they  had  never  yet 
met  any  of  the  old  comrades,  but  father  and 
daughter  knew  they  Avere  there,  at  the  front. 
Day  after  day  the  panorama  of  war  was  un- 
rolled. They  Avere  never  out  of  hearing  of  the 
guns  and  sight  of  troops. 

Even  in  their  infrequent  visits  to  Steenie  Rue 
found  that  social  life  in  Richmond  meant  cami3 
life,  garrison  life,  the  life  of  a  beleaguered  city — 
a  life  that  from  its  very  intensity  was  natural, 
simple,  earnest.  Conventionalities  grew  into 
traditions  or  took  new  fonns.  EvcTy thing 
fashioned  itself  to  suit  the  change.  Men  of  the 
heroic  type  developed  under  the  trials,  while  the 
baser  soit  were  more  aggressive,  more  boastful. 


'^  KJJSra  STAN."  121 

Modern  and  multiplied  editions  of  Falstafr, 
Bardolph,  and  Poins  were  in  every  camp.  Yet 
as  offset  many  a  noble  and  princely  Hal,  wlio 
liad  run  riot  througli  idleness  and  the  imper- 
fectly trained  and  untamed  energy  of  youth, 
broke  the  bonds  that  held  him  and  came  out  of 
the  sulphurous  smoke  of  battle  purged  and  puri- 
fied by  dangers  met  and  self-denial  practised  in 
the  service  of  some  wounded  comrade. 

Woman  also  changed  with  the  time  and  re- 
flected the  time. 

The  motherhood  that  had  been  restricted  into 
the  narrow  channel  of  family  grew  broader  and 
fuller  with  a  boy  at  the  front.  The  woman's 
heart  overflowed  and  poured  out  in  kindly  deeds. 
Her  life  was  busy  with  its  sweet  charities.  She 
brought  cheer  and  comfort  to  the  soldier  stricken 
down  by  bullet  or  disease  that  destiny  brought 
to  her  door.  Light  seemed  the  task,  precious 
the  labor,  when  she  thought  for  whose  sake  it 
was  done  and  to  whom  the  return  would  be 
made. 

Mothers  were  not  alone  in  their  devotion : 
wives,  sisters,  daughters  lost  what  was  dearest 
and  bravely  took  up  the  burden  of  the  life  that 
was  left. 


122  THE  MODERN  H AGAR. 

I  claim  for  my  countrywomen — and  I  know 
that  I  do  not  claim  too  much  in  so  saying — that 
in  all  the  history  of  the  world  no  women  ever 
sacrificed  so  much,  suffered  so  much,  endured  so 
much,  yet  met  sacrifice  with  such  cheerfulness. 
Their  heaviest  losses  were  borne  with  a  fortitude 
and  constancy  that  brought  hojie  to  men  who 
Avere  faint  and  helpless  in  the  presence  of  ills 
that  seemed  too  grievous  to  be  borne. 

To  understand  the  social  life  of  that  time  we 
have  to  take  into  consideration  the  fateful  ele- 
ments of  which  it  was  constructed.  Xo  mere 
narrative  of  daily  events  can  portray  life  as  it 
really  is,  if  the  deeper  meanings  of  resultant  ef- 
fects are  not  studied.  Social  life  is  always  of 
necessity  a  surface  picture  ;  yet  we  are  more  in 
accord  with  the  artist  if  we  know  why  the  sha- 
dows deepen  and  from  what  point  light  is  re- 
flected. 

In  those  long  years  active  causes,  terrible 
forces,  were  brought  into  play,  while  all  softer 
sounds  were  drowned  in  the  sobs  of  the  tragedy 
chorus.  In  the  presence  of  such  elements  men 
led  nobler  and  women  more  natural  lives. 

In  the  camp  with  its  chances,  in  the  battle  with 
its  dangers,  education  went  on.     Yet  reason  was 


''KING  STAN,"  123 

not  altogether  free ;  there  was  of  necessity  the 
restraint  that  grows  out  of  the  habitudes  of  mil- 
itary rule.  Thought  wore  deeper  channels,  but 
the  channels  were  in  a  measure  marked  and  nar- 
rowed within  fixed  limits.  Discipline  taught  the 
patience  that  waits  on  supreme  direction. 

In  the  Confederate  army  each  soldier  felt  the 
influence  of  illustrious  example.  The  first  cap- 
tain of  the  age  was  also  the  humblest  Christian  of 
his  day— peerless  in  battle,  pure  in  heart,  brave 
because  it  was  his  nature  to  be  brave,  but  confi- 
dent in  his  courage  because,  with  the  simple  faith 
of  a  little  child,  he  left  results  to  the  Highest. 

He  did  his  duty  manfully,  resolutely,  not  for 
man's  praise,  but  for  God's  approval.  How 
could  such  a  man  fail  to  stamp  his  likeness  on 
his  epoch  ?  So  from  the  highest  to  tlie  loAvest 
through  society,  through  the  army,  if  men  were 
not  ruled  by  the  right  they  at  least  respected  the 
right. 

A  great  leader  always  grows  to  be  the  con- 
science of  a  people  ;  his  character  expresses  the 
time,  because  in  a  measure  he  makes  and  rules 
it.  And  so  that  time  could  not  fail  to  touch  the 
highest,  at  least  in  endeavor,  when  Lee  and  Jack- 
son were  its  exponents. 


124  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

By  the  happiest  combination  of  characteristics 
Jackson's  greatness  in  nowise  lessened  that  of 
his  chief.  Each  seemed  the  complement  of  the 
other  ;  and  thus  was  preserved  the  jDerfect  fit- 
ness that  won  their  marvellous  successes  in  the 
field  and  in  camj),  through  the  effect  of  their 
characters  u^Don  the  character  of  the  army. 
From  them  the  w^ave  circled  and  widened. 

Another  influence,  less  marked  because  it  lack- 
ed the  brilliant  setting  of  action,  though  not  less 
real  in  effect  from  the  example  it  afforded  of  for- 
titude and  resolution,  was  that  of  the  head  of  the 
government.  It  has  been  so  constant  a  practice 
since  and  during  the  war  to  misrex)resent,  slan- 
der, and  condemn  President  Davis  that  the  world 
looks  only  for  such  base  and  baseless  attack,  and 
would  regard  as  misplaced  praise  any  expression 
which  did  him  the  most  meagre  justice.  Even 
his  own  people  have  fallen  into  the  mistake  of 
avoidance  of  his  name  ;  and  that  from  no  want 
of  affecflon  or  grateful  appreciation,  but  for 
fear  it  would  needlessly  rouse  more  bitter  ani- 
mosity, more  envenomed  criticism. 

Now  that  this  most  cowardly  of  all  virtues, 
discretion,  has  failed  to  silence  slander,  now  that 
the  failure  is  felt,  it  is  tlie  duty  of  every  lover  of 


'' KING  J^TAN."  125 

honor  and  truth  to  declare  the  fact  that  Jefferson 
Davis  represented  the  beliefs  of  the  South.  The 
place  of  president  came  to  him  nnsought,  un- 
solicited ;  his  own  personal  i^reference  was  the 
army.  Who  that  knew  him  as  a  soldier  in  the 
early  days  in  the  Northwest,  or  later  on  the  plains 
of  Mexico,  where"  his  gallantry  forced  praise  and 
thanks  on  the  battle-field  from  that  stubborn  old 
hero,  Gen.  Taylor,  can  doubt  what  a  good  sword 
was  lost  to  the  Confederacy  when  he  was  made 
X)resident  and  his  own  cherished  ambition  was 
laid  aside  ?  All  of  this  is  easily  seen  now  that 
we  are  face  to  face  with  results. 

In  '61  it  was  difficult  to  foretell  events  or  their 
effect  upon  the  future  of  peoples  and  States. 
But  few  believed  in  a  long  duration  of  the  war  ; 
consequently  it  was  a  grand  pageant,  at  which 
all  assisted. 

That  hot  July  day  when  bullets  were  flying  at 
Bull  Run  had  failed  to  teach  the  South  at  what 
cost  battles  must  be  won.  It  had  flushed  the 
soldiers  with  j)ride  and  with  the  rank  lust  of 
war.  It  disorganized  and  reorganized  society, 
which  took  upon  itself  a  semi-military  state. 

In  every  drawing-room  grand  campaigns  were 
planned  by  loiterers  who  thought  it  needful  to 


126  THE  MODERN  II A  GAR. 

return  to  the  army  only  wlien  the  enemy's  guns 
sounded  a  recall.  The  Richmond  drawing-rooms 
were  crowded  with  volunteer  officers  who  flocked 
to  the  city  upon  the  slightest  of  pretexts,  while 
masses  of  raw  and  undisci]3lined  troops  repre- 
sented at  the  front  the  bravery  and  patriotism 
of  the  new  nation. 

All  was  in  an  inchoate  and  unsettled  condition, 
and  the  discipline  of  the  army  was  a  fluctuating 
impulse  dependent  upon  the  accidents  of  victory 
and  the  temper  of  its  commanders. 

One  of  those  commanders  was  busy  with  his 
political  aspirations.  ^'Within  hearing  of  the 
enemy's  guns"  he  was  amusing  the  enemy  with 
his  newsi^aper  effusions,  declining  the  nomination 
as  Mr.  Davis's  successor  in  the  presidential  office 
six  years  before  it  was  vacant.  Yet  the  harmless 
vanity  of  the  poseur  for  greatness  was  less  hurt- 
ful to  his  subordinates  than  the  ambition  and 
jealousy  of  the  Bazaine  of  the  South,  then  in 
command  of  the  army  in  Virginia. 

The  two  men  who  were  to  weld  that  army  into 
formidable  shape  and  win  for  it  imperishable  re- 
nown were  yet  unknown  outside  of  Virginia. 

Lee's  only  record  was  that  he  had  patiently  sus- 
tained reverses  while  endeavoring  to  repair  the 


"KING  STAN."  Ije7 

disaster  at  Rich  Mountain  ;  and  Stonewall  Jack- 
son, in  a  subordinate  position,  was  as  yet  only  a 
vague  outline  of  prophecy. 

Leszinksky's  regiment  had  been  ordered  to 
Western  Virginia  in  the  early  summer  of  '61. 
After  the  failure  at  Cheat  Mountain  Lee  was  sent 
to  take  charge  of  the  coast  defences  in  South 
Carolina  and  Georgia,  and  Leszinksky's  regiment 
joined  General  Evans's  brigade. 

After  the  battle  of  Leesburg  Leszinksky  was 
promoted  and  given  command  of  a  regiment 
which  was  ordered  to  join  General  Jackson  at 
Winchester. 

From  that  time  he  was  in  constant  and  active 
service,  being  in  every  engagement  during  Jack- 
son's famous  campaign  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia 
until  the  10th  of  June,  when  he  was  ordered 
to  Richmond. 

McClellan  was  closing  in  his  advance  upon 
Richmond.  The  brigade  of  General  Leszinksky 
(promoted  again  at  the  capture  of  Winchester) 
was  encamped  at  "The  Cedars."  Steenie  had 
not  been  well,  and  the  child  begged  to  come 
home  now  that  her  father  was  there.  In  event  of 
a  change  in  the  position  of  the  troops  she  could 
easily  be  sent  back   to   the   convent.      During 


1.38  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Steenie's  visit  Rue  yielded  to  her  father's  wish 
and  stayed  at  ''The  Cedars,"  although  his  divi- 
sion had  been  ordered  some  twelve  miles  away 
and  there  w^as  constant  skirmishing  along  the 
line.  The  heavy  guns  w^ere  never  silent,  and  the 
constant  movement  and  massing  of  troops  fore- 
told the  nearness  of  the  great  struggle  for  the 
possession  of  the  Confederate  capital. 

It  was  the  26th  day  of  June,  1862.  The  day 
had  been  unusually  hot,  and  Steenie  was  more 
restless  and  impatient  than  usual ;  this  excite- 
ment was  telling  upon  a  peculiarly  delicate  and 
sensitive  organization.  General  Leszinksky  al- 
ways, if  jDossible,  came  to  his  daughters  during 
the  evening.  This  night  he-  came  late  and 
brought  new^s  of  the  near  approach  of  the  Fed- 
eml  forces.  In  view  of  the  effect  of  further 
excitement  on  Steenie  he  insisted  on  her  re- 
moval to  Richmond ;  he  was  anxious  and  wor- 
ried, and  therefore  Rue  made  no  objections.  The 
needful  directions  were  given  to  the  servants,  and 
at  midnight  General  Leszinksky  returned  to  his 
command,  not,  however,  before  Rue  had  given  an 
order  to  Oscar  that  she  knew^  would  be  obeyed. 

''If  the  battle  commences  to-morrow  stay  near 
your  master.     Follow  him  with  an  extra  horse  ; 


'^  KING  STAN."  129 

he  or  you  may  need  it.  Take  '  Grey  Duke,'  and 
if  anything  happens  to  my  father,  at  the  risk  of 
your  life  come  to  me  here.  You  can  be  sure  of 
finding  me  here." 

"Yes,  Miss  Rue.  You  kin  count' n  Oscar's 
comin'  if  thar's  anything  wrong." 

"  To-morrow  night  you  can  tell  my  father  that 
I  am  here  and  that  I  am  waiting  to  come  to 
him." 

"Yes,  Miss  Rue." 

"Do  you  perfectly  understand  these  direc- 
tions?" 

"  Yes,'m.  Tse  to  come  fur  you  if  marster's 
hurt.  If  he's  all  right  to-morrow  night  I'se  to 
tell  him  to  send  you  word  whar  to  come." 

Early  the  next  day  Steenie  and  her  faithful  old 
nurse  left  for  Richmond  under  the  escort  of  an 
invalid  officer  of  her  father's  brigade.  At  ten 
o'clock  a  brigade  from  General  Jackson's  com- 
mand arrived  from  the  Valley  and  were  met  with 
an  order  to  encamp  at  "The  Cedars."  There 
were  old  friends  of  General  Leszinksky'  s  in  the 
party,  whose  families  Rue  had  visited  when  the 
Avar  had  swept  near  them.  Now  she  was  glad  to 
make  them  Avelcome,  and  the  day  vras  shortened 
from  the  duties    it  brought,  although  that  dis- 


130  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

tant  cannonading  was  never  silent !  The  night 
passed— no  message.  They  had  breakfasted 
when  Rue  was  told  ' '  Oscar  is  on  the  porch  thar, 
Miss  Rue,  waiting  to  see  you."  She  went  di- 
rectly, extending  her  hand. 

''You  have  a  letter  r' 

*'No,  Miss  Rue." 

''A  message?" 

"Not  exactly  a  message;  marster  didn't  tole 
me,  but  I  thought  I  had  better  cum." 

''You  did  right  to  come.  Will  you  know 
where  to  find  the  division  ?  ' ' 

"  Marster' s  not  gone  with  the  division." 

"Well,  the  brigade?" 

"He  isn't  with  the  brigade  nuther  ;  he's  at 
old  Mr.  Shirley's  'folks'  quaiters,'  in  old  Uncle 
Ben's  cabin.  Don't  be  skur'ed.  Miss  Rue  ;  he's 
a  livin',  but  he's  hurt  mighty  bad.  Dr.  Wilson 
and  ole  Uncle  Ben's  with  him;  but  I  did  jes' 
what  you  tole  me,  Miss  Rue— I  come  straight  fur 
you." 

Trembling  and  faint.  Rue  sat  down  on  the 
steps  ;  the  servants  crowded  around  with  kindly 
words. 

"Don't,  don't  cry.  Miss  Rue;  don't  cry, 
honey!     Marster' 11  get  well.     You'll  find  him 


^'KING  STAN."  131 

all  right.  'Tain't  long  since  Oscar  lef  him;  he 
mos'  killed  '  Grey  Duke  '  a-comin'." 

She  had  no  time  for  grief — that  must  come 
after — so  resolutely  she  got  on  her  feet. 

''  When  did  you  leave  my  father  ? " 

' '  Jes'  abou  t  nine  o'  clock.  I  wa'  n'  t  much  mor'  n 
an  hour  a-comin'.  We  can  get  thar,  Miss  Rue, 
'fore  noon." 

''Saddle  'Kubleh'  for  me;  you  must  ride 
'Blackhawk.'    We  have  no  time  to  lose." 

She  turned  and  met  her  guests ;  they  had  heard 
the  news. 

"  What  could  they  do  ? " 

"Nothing,  gentlemen.  Yes:  general,  please 
write  me  a  pass  ;  it  may  ^^revent  delay." 

In  ten  minutes  Rue  and  Oscar  were  off.  Much 
as  she  wished  it,  she  dared  not  go  at  racing  speed. 
The  horses  must  not  give  out.  If  troops  were  in 
the  way  it  might  double,  treble  the  distance  to 
be  traversed;  fifteen  miles  might  stretch  into 
thirty,  or  even  fifty.  Oscar's  knowledge  of 
wood-paths  and  cross-cuts  was  of  great  help. 
Twice  they  were  halted ;  the  pass  must  be 
shown.  The  last  time  the  ofiicer,  having  read  it, 
said : 

"I  have  seen  you  on  several  battle-fields,  Miss 


132  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Leszinksky.  The  boy  says  your  father  is  shot ; 
I  hope  not  fatally  ?  " 

The  rude  question  was  kindly  meant,  but  the 
words  "your  father  is  shot"  for  a  moment  stag- 
gered Rue  as  if  she  had  received  a  blow.  Then 
a  resolute  effort  of  will  and  she  was  riding  on 
"to  the  front,"  leaving  distance  behind.  Only 
two  miles  more — two  miles— and  she  would  be 
with  her  father.  Every  pulse  beat,  every  nerve 
quivered  with  eager  hope  and  desire,  every 
thought  was  a  i^rayer  only  to  reach  him,  to 
find  him  alive  and  conscious. 

Again  the  road  swarmed  with  troops.  Beyond 
were  heavy  guns  to  which  they  were  harnessing 
fresh  horses ;  passing  them  was  impossible  for 
the  present,  so  again  she  turned  into  the  tobacco 
and  corn  fields. 

Just  at  the  head  of  the  narrow  gorge  through 
which  her  path  led  she  suddenly  rode  into  a 
group  of  Confederate  ofiicers  lying  at  ease  un- 
der cover  of  the  undergrowth  of  scrub-oak  and 
hazel-bushes  which  fringed  the  hillside. 

The  creek  in  the  ravine  ran  in  a  southeasterly 
direction.  On  the  l^row  of  the  hill,  or  rather 
heights,  on  the  right  were  newly-constructed 
earthworks  held  by  the  Confederate  forces.     The 


''KINO  stan:'  133 

creek  was  nearly  at  the  base  of  this  ascent,  with 
only  the  road  between. 

On  the  left  of  the  creek  the  valley  was  possi- 
bly some  fifty  feet  wide ;  then  there  was  a  gra- 
dual ascent  through  an  open  woods  that  had, 
however,  a  close  fringe  of  willows  on  the  bank. 
Three-quarters  of  a  mile  down  the  ravine,  or 
gorge,  a  little  rivulet  cut  the  hillside  on  the  left 
of  the  creek,  and  below  it  rose  suddenly  a  bold, 
high  cliff ;  around  that  a  bridle-path  led  to  the 
"folks'  quarters"  of  the  Shirley  estate.  There 
in  old  Ben's  house  was  General  Leszinksky. 

Within  an  instant  after  Eue  came  upon  the 
group  of  officers  they  were  around  her.  Many 
of  them  she  knew  slightly.  She  could  see 
they  understood  how  terribly  she  was  stricken. 
Kindly  hands  were  extended.  General  Stuart, 
as  he  lifted  her  from  her  horse,  said  : 

''Your  father  is  inside  the  enemy's  line. 
There  was  a  blunder  as  to  orders  after  he  fell, 
and  the  hill  down  below  the  gap  is  in  possession 
of  the  Federals.  So  are  the  woods  on  the  left 
of  the  creek.  Fortunately  the  Stonewall  brig- 
ade hold  the  heights  on  this  side.  "We  are  mass- 
ing troops  here  to  dislodge  the  enemy.  Pel- 
ham's  battery  is  there  on  that  knoll,  just  getting 


134  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

into  position.  Before  night  we  will  take  you  to 
your  father,  if  they  have  not  removed  him." 
"  Is  my  father  mortally  wounded  ? " 
'*  I  trusf  and  hope  not.  I  saw  one  of  his  aids. 
He  thinks  the  enemy  may  not  find  General  Les- 
zinsky.  Old  Ben  is  faithful  and  trustworthy, 
and  Dr.  Wilson  is  there." 

''  General,  I  must  go  to  my  father." 
*' You  cannot.  I  dare  not  permit  you.  It  is 
not  an  hour  since  the  enemy  were  driven  back 
in  an  attempt  to  storm  the  heights.  This  is  only 
the  lull  before  a  fresh  storm.  Here  is  Pelham. 
He  will  tell  you  it  would  be  madness  to  attempt 
to  go  do\vn  that  gorge.  Major  Pelham — Miss 
Leszinksky,  the  daughter  of  General  Leszink- 
sky.  You  know,  major,  he  is  wounded  and  at 
the  Shirley  quarters.  You  will  tell  Miss  Les- 
zinksky how  utterly  impossible  it  is  for  her  to 
go  there." 

'*  Major,  my  father  is  desj^erately  wounded; 
he  has  no  son,  so  I,  his  daughter,  have  the  right 
to  dare  all,  to  risk  all,  to  reach  him.  Only  one 
mile  to  go ! — only  one  mile,  and  my  thorough- 
bred will  do  it  in  less  than  two  minutes." 

'^Not  down  that  rocky  valley.  If  it  were  at 
all  possible  no  one  would  stay  you  a  second. 


''KINO  STAN:'  135 

But  you  would  risk  almost  certain  death.  War 
is  no  longer  chivalry — it  is  war^ 

*'I  would  rather  die  in  the  way  than  wait — 
than  fail  my  father  in  his  need." 

*'If  it  were  possible  I  would  send  a  flag  of 
truce.  There  are  United  States  regulars  on  the 
hill — General  Carson's  brigade." 

^*  Oh  !  I  know  him  welL  I  am  his  goddaugh- 
ter. I  was  born  and  brought  uj)  with  his  old 
regiment.     You  see  how  safe  it  would  be  for  me. ' ' 

''If  they  knew  you,  yes  ;  but  in  the  woods  be- 
tween are  Connecticut  volunteers.  As  a  soldier's 
daughter  you  must  know  Ave  cannot  send  a  flag 
now  during  an  engagement.  In  a  few  hours  the 
hottest  of  the  fight  will  probably  be  here.  Gene- 
ral Carson  will  hold  the  cliff  stubbornly.  If  you 
will  be  patient  we  will  all  do  our  utmost  to  make 
the  waiting  short.  General,  let  me  see  you  one 
instant." 

A  few  moments,  and  as  Major  Pelham  crossed 
the  open  space  below  where  Hue  waited  a  volley 
of  bullets  whistled  by.  Oscar  was  rubbing  the 
foam  from  "Kubleh's"  flanks,  whilst  a  soldier 
held  the  bridle  of  "Blackhawk."  Rue  called 
Oscar  as  a  scout  came  up  to  the  general  to  re- 
poi't.    Her  directions  were  quickly  given  : 


13G  THE  MUDERX  llAUAn. 

''See  to  the  girths,  then  put  me  up.  Do  not 
try  to  follow  me ;  it  would  endanger  us  both. 
Come  to-night  if  it  is  possible.  You  know  the 
country  well  enough  to  pass  the  jjickets." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Rue  ;  you  can  'pend  on  me." 

The  general  came  with  the  information  : 

''The  enemy  are  crowding  reinforcements  to 
this  point  and  to  the  left.  I  must  leave ;  but 
Pelham  will  keep  his  promise.  Now  I  must 
send  you  back  with  an  escort." 

Rue  beckoned  Oscar  and  he  put  her  upon 
"Kubleli."  Gathering  the  reins  hastily  before 
the  others  should  mount,  she  moved  toward 
the  jjath  down  the  hillside,  saying: 

"General,  you  have  done  your  duty  as  gen- 
tleman and  soldier.  I  must  do  mine  as  a  sol- 
dier's daughter.  I  am  going  down  that  ravine — 
straight  to  my  father." 

And  she  was  oif,  down  the  hillside  where  the 
bridle-path  wound  through  the  bushes  into  the 
road,  calling  back  to  them  : 

"Do  not  come  after  me;  you  will  make  the 
danger  greater :  you  will  only  draw  on  me  the 
enemy's  fire." 

Seeing  them  halt,  she  recklessly  rode  on — the 
tlioroughbred    at    racing     speed — one    hundred 


''KING  JSTAN."  137 

yards,  and  as  slie  crossed  an  opening  between 
the  willows  on  tlie  bank  tliere  rained  a  shower 
of  bullets.  The  distance  before  she  must  cross 
the  creek  was  nearly  made  when  "Kubleh. " 
stumbled. 

The  mare  quickly  recovered,  but  the  speed 
slackened.  Was  she  shot  ?  Rue  did  not  know. 
Still  the  balls  whistled  by.  Not  a  sound  from 
the  Confederates  on  the  heights  until  then, 
when  the  shells  screamed  over  Rue  and  she 
knew  Pelham  was  trying  to  clear  the  woods  to 
her  left. 

But  there  on  the  cliff  were  the  marksmen  of 
the  plains.  One  volley  from  them  and  her  doom 
was  sealed.  How  to  make  them  know  her  ?  how 
to  live  long  enough  to  reach  her  father?  Only 
to  reach  her  father — she  had  no  thought,  no 
care  but  that.  As  she  turned  to  cross  the  creek 
a  ball  touched  her.  It  took  her  hat  and  un- 
bound her  hair.  Again  "Kubleh"  staggered, 
then  struggled  on.  How  to  make  them  under- 
stand?— Bob  Stearns  and  those  men  up  there, 
who  would  rather  die  than  harm  her.  Yes  ; 
she  thought  it  out  at  last— an  old  trick  they 
had  taught  her.  They  had  called  it  ''Captain 
Rue's  Salute," 


138  THE  MODERN  IIAUAH. 

Eiding  now  steadily,  slowly,  perfectly  erect, 
that  tliey  might  see,  she  took  the  bridle  in 
her  teeth,  and  bending  her  whip,  holding  it  as 
the  arc  of  a  bow  with  her  arms  high  over  head, 
on  she  rode,  steadily  on,  slowly  ujd  the  slope. 
For  a  minute  the  firing  of  Federals  and  Confede- 
rates had  ceased.  One  minute,  then  a  sharp  vol- 
ley whistled  from  the  left.  As  that  sound  died, 
above  from  the  cliff  stalwart  men  swanned  down. 
Bob  Stearns's  voice  bellowing  out: 

*'  It's  Cap'n  Rue,  and  them  damned  volunteers 
keep  firing  at  her.  Stop  it  !  stop  it  !  !  or  we'  11 
sweep  you  to  h— 1." 

The  thoroughbred  had  won  her  last  race — won 
it  with  a  bullet  through  her. 

As  the  mare  fell  Rue  was  caught  in  strong 
arms  and  carried  up  the  cliff,  while  a  wild,  pierc- 
ing Confederate  yell  from  the  earthworks  across 
the  ravine  rang  out  congratulation,  Unhurt, 
safe,  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of  men  who  were 
sobbing  around  her  like  children. 

Rue  looked  in  their  faces  through  blinding 
tears,  gasping  brokenly  : 

*'  My  father  is  down  there  in  the  Shirley  quar- 
ters, desperately  wounded.  Will  you  take  me 
to  bim  ?    They  tried  to  stop  me  up  there— Gene- 


''KING  STAN."  139 

ral  Stuart  and  Major  Pelham — but  I  would  come. 
I  thouglit  you  would  know  me  ;  some  one  would 
be  sure  to  remember." 

Here  General  Carson  broke  through  the  circle 
and  the  men  fell  back.  He  took  Eue  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  with 
her  father,  crying  tears  of  mingled  grief  and  joy. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

•'  No  more  in  soldier  fashion  will  he  greet 
With  lifted  hand  the  gazer  in  the  street. 

Oh  !  fallen  at  length  that  tower  of  strength 

Which  stood  four  square  to  all  the  winds  that  blew.** 

I]Sr  a  sheltered  spot,  out  of  reach  of  the  storm 
of  battle  which  raged  furiously,  they  pitched 
a  tent,  and  there  they  carried  Leszinksky. 
Words  fail  in  telling  the  kindness  of  those  rough 
men,  the  loving  sympathy  of  his  old  comrades 
among  the  officers. 

At  times,  in  a  half-conscious  waking,  he  seem- 
ed to  recognize  the  old,  familiar  faces,  and  then 
would  talk  in  broken  sentences  of  the  camp  out 
there,  of  the  life  on  the  plains,  and  of  Margaret. 
All  between  was  effaced. 

At  nightfall  came  General  Carson,  calling  Rue 
to  one  side  : 

''We  are  going  to  move  from  here.  Rue. 
Which  had  you  rather  do,  my  child— go  with 
us  or  try  to  get  your  father  home  ? " 

"Home,  if  possible  ;  when  my  father  is  fully 

140 


''KLY(x  STAN:  14:1 

conscious  lie  will  want  my  sister.  But  how  am  I 
to  get  him  to  '  The  Cedars  M  " 

*' Those  Connecticut  fellows  are  coming  over 
here  to  hold  the  cliff— if  they  can  when  Jackson 
wants  it.  You  know  their  colonel— Bradnor,  the 
'  swamped '  lieutenant.  Of  course  the  dandy  has 
everything  they  will  give  at  the  War  Depart- 
ment. He  has  the  best  ambulance  in  the  service. 
I  will  ask  him  for  it.  He  will  hardly  dare  refuse 
me,  and  I  will  leave  Bob  and  three  of  the  men 
with  you.  Oh  !  did  you  know  Oscar  has  got  in 
with  a  horse  of  yours  ? " 

;^  He  is  unhurt  r' 

''Yes  ;  he  flanked  your  pickets  and  ours,  and 
made  it  safely.  I  believe  a  negro  would  squeeze 
through  a  snake-hole  to  pass  a  picket-line.  Can 
he  drive  well?" 

''  Yes,  rapidly  and  carefully." 

*'  Then  he  can  drive  the  ambulance.  Your  fa- 
ther can  have  the  doctor  in  with  him.  I  can 
mount  two  of  the  men,  and  they  can  change  with 
the  others.  Two  must  walk  by  the  ambulance. 
These  Virginian  gullies  are  something  to  cross. 
You  have  the  horse  Oscar  brought,  and  you  know 
the  Confederate  officers  in  front  of  us.  The  only 
trouble  will  be  when  these  volunteers  of  ours 


142  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

leave  (and  they  will  leave,  with  Jackson  over 
there).  Stearns  can  hold  your  horses  and  ambu- 
lance until  then  ;  but  in  the  rush  of  the  rebels?" 

"Major  Pelham  is  sure  to  remember  that  we 
are  here.  We  will  be  safe  with  the  Confederate 
advance,  but  Bob  and  the  men—" 

"Must  see  you  home.  There  is  no  time  to 
change  escorts  in  a  fight,  and  this  one  is  no 
child's  play.  The  men  must  take  their  chance 
about  getting  back  to  the  brigade.  I  will  have 
to  parole  your  father  and  Dr.  Wilson  ;  then 
Bradnor  can  make  no  difficulty  about  it." 

"  I  do  not  need  to  thank  you,  general  ? " 

"Yes,  you  do,  Rue  ;  it's  confounded  hard  to 
give  you  up.     D—n  the  war  ! ' ' 

"  You  forget  I  have  a  way  of  catching  your  ex- 
pressions. They  brought  me  to  grief  once,  and 
that  last  is  tempting." 

"  You  know  we  all  love  you,  Rue,  but  I  don't 
think  you  realize  how  devotedly.  If  you  are  in 
any  need,  if  any  help  is  wanted,  let  us  know  ;  we 
will  come  to  you,  if  possible.  If  it  is  impossible, 
some  one  will  come — Molly  or  Mrs.  Carisbrooke. 
Good-by,  my  child.  May  God  spare  your  fa- 
ther ! " 


''KING  STANr      .  143 

Colonel  Bradnor  came  with  offer  of  help,  with 
words  of  sympathy,  all  courteous  attention  to 
Miss  Leszinksky,  to  Dr.  Wilson,  and  the  most 
considerate  kindness  to  General  Leszinksky.  He 
anticipated  every  possible  want.  Until  then  Rue 
had  let  liking  be  ruled  by  attraction  and  repul- 
sion. She  now  thought  that  an  unjust  prejudice 
had  blinded  her  to  Bradnor' s  good  qualities,  so 
she  forced  a  reversal  of  judgment,  or  rather  forced 
judgment  to  the  other  extreme,  and  credited  the 
man  with  every  chivalrous,  every  noble  quality. 

General  Carson  had  said  truly — the  Connecti- 
cut brigade  did  leave  when  Jackson  advanced  in 
the  early  morning.  They  did  not  stand  upon  the 
order  of  their  going.  In  an  instant,  it  seemed, 
after  hearing  that  wild  rebel  yell  there  was  a 
rush  of  pursuers  and  pursued. 

The  Stonewall  brigade  were  in  the  advance. 
There  was  a  hurried  greeting,  and  the  little  party 
were  left  to  wait  until  the  division  had  passed 
and  then  commence  their  slow  movement  home- 
ward. 

Rue  was  on  ' '  Blackhaw^k,' '  escorted  by  Bob  and 
one  of  the  men.  The  two  others  walked  by  the 
ambulance.     Doctor  Wilson  was  in  it  with  Les- 


144  THE  MODERN  HAG  AIL 

zinksky.  Oscar  was  driving.  Slowly  they  passed 
\\\)  the  ravine.  On  the  heights  was  a  division 
unknown  to  Rue.  Her  father  had  grown  faint ; 
they  stopped. 

Bob  and  the  men  were  standing  a  little  apart 
when  an  officer  and  his  staff  rode  up  to  them  and 
asked : 

*'Are  you  prisoners?  Where  are  your 
passes?" 

Bob  answered:  ''We  ain't  got  no  passes,  and 
we  ain't  prisoners,  so  be  an'  Cap'n  Rue  don't 
keer  to  make  us  sich." 

"Then  what  the  h— 1  are  you  doing  here  in 
that  Yankee  uniform  ? ' ' 

"It's  ourn.  We  belong  to  the  United  States 
regulars.  'Tain't  exackly  a  parade  uniform  (we 
ain't  got  on  our  best),  but  this  is  good  enough  to 
fight  in.     Nobody's  complained  on  it  yet." 

"  You  d — d  impudent  Yankee,  I'll  put  you  in 
irons— I'll— " 

Rue  rode  in  front  of  the  men. 

"  I  am  Miss  Leszinksky.  My  father.  General 
Leszinksky,  of  General  Jackson's  division,  was 
wounded  yesterday  and  taken  prisoner.  He  was 
paroled  by  General  Carson,  of  the  United  States 
regulars,   and   these   men   were   left   with  us  as 


''KING  STAN."  145 

escort  and  protectors  when  General  Carson  re- 
treated." 

"  Very  well,  miss.  You  do  not  need  the  pro- 
tection of  Yankees  now.  I  will  give  you  an  es- 
cort. These  men  are  my  prisoners.  I  will  not 
have  such  impudent  scoundrels  loose  here  in  that 
uniform." 

''They  are  not  prisoners.  They  were  given  as 
an  escort  to  my  father,  and  you  touch  his 
honor  if  you  fail  to  treat  them  with  the  courtesy 
due  to  gallant  men  who  are  here  in  obedience  to 
the  order  of  their  general. ' ' 

A  young  officer  touched  Rue^s  arm  and  said  in 
a  low  tone : 

"Your  appeal  to  that  man  is  useless,  Miss 
Leszinksky.  He  does  not  understand  the  code 
of  gentlemen      Do  you  know  General  Lee  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"There  he  comes  across  that  field  with  those 
officers.     Go  to  him." 

She  rode  rapidly  to  meet  the  advancing  group. 
General  Lee  stopped. 

''  Miss  Leszinksky,  to  meet  you  here  proves 
that  your  father  is  better  than  I  had  feared. 
Pelham  told  me  of  your  desperate  ride.  Were 
you  any  other   than   your  father's   daughter  I 


146  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

should  compliment  your  noble  devotion.  To 
your  father's  daughter  I  can  only  say  you  have 
fulfilled  his  expectation  and  mine." 

"Thanks.  My  father  is  there  in  that  ambu- 
lance, badly  wounded,  unconscious  most  of  the 
time.     I  come  to  ask  a  favor." 

"  It  is  granted  before  the  asking.  I  have  faith 
in  your  discretion." 

"  Did  you  know  my  father  w^as  a  prisoner  with 
the  regulars  of  his  old  regiment  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes ;  Pelham  told  me  they  were  there.  I 
know  Carson." 

''Then  you  know  how  kind  he  is  and  what 
gallant  men  they  are — oihcers  and  soldiers.  I 
Avas  brouglit  up  with  them.  General  Carson 
feared  I  might  need  assistance  and  protection, 
and  he  left  with  me  four  men  of  our  old  com- 
mand. There  were  changes  of  troops  before 
General  Jackson  captured  the  heights,  so  these 
men  were  needed  to  keep  the  ambulance — you 
see  they  gave  us  an  ambulance.  And  now  an 
officer  there,  the  one  near  the  ambulance,  has 
ordered  the  men  held  as  prisoners.  He  threat- 
ened to  put  them  in  irons.  Will  you  permit 
itr' 

"Certainly  not  !" 


''KING  STAN:'  147 

And  lie  rode  on  with  Rue  rapidly  to  where 
they  had  dismounted  Bob. 

''  Colonel,  who  are  those  Federal  soldiers  V 

"They  are  my  prisoners,  sir." 

"Where  did  you  cax)ture  them  ?  " 

"Here." 

' '  I  did  not  know  your  regiment  had  been  en- 
gaged. From  what  command  did  jou  capture 
them?" 

"From  no  command,  sir;  these  were  inside  of 
our  lines." 

"A  safe  place  to  capture  prisoners.  I  trust 
you  will  do  as  well  at  the  front.  Who  is  in  that 
ambulance  T' 

"A  wounded  officer,  sir — Gfeneral  Leszink- 
sky." 

"Did  you  not  know  these  men  were  given  to 
him  by  a  brave  enemy  as  a  guard  of  honor  ? " 

He  hesitated,  then  commenced  a  muttered  "I 
knew  they  were  in  the  Yankee  uniform." 

"  Did  you  not  know  they  were  with  a  wounded 
general  officer  and  his  daughter?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then,  sir,  report  yourself  under  arrest." 

The  superb  gentleman  took  off  his  hat  to  Bob 
and  the  men. 


148  TH£  3I0DERN  HAGAR. 

''Yoli  are  gallant  and  brave  men.  As  a  sol- 
dier I  honor  you.  Will  you  excuse  the  blunder 
in  your  reception  ? " 

"It  don't  make  no  difference,  sir;  you  see  I 
never  expect  much  of  volunteers.  Now,  I'd 
a-know'd  you  was  a  reg'lar,  sir,  anywhar.  I'm 
powerful  glad  we  come  up  with  you.  You  see 
we'd  a-been  disapp'inted  and  the  regiment  would 
a-been  disapp'inted  if  we  hadn't  a  seen  Cap'n 
Rue  and  the  major  safe  in  quarters." 

"  Who  is  Captain  Rue?" 

"She's  thar,  sir.  She's  our  child.  You  see 
her  father  was  our  old  major,  and  her  mother 
was  one  o'  God's  angels.  Never  a  poor  woman 
sick  on  the  frontier  thar — even  so  be  an'  'twas  an 
Injun — but  she  helped  her.  Nothing  ever  hurt 
the  regiment  like  when  she  died,  an'  we  jes'  took 
her  darter  for  ourn.  An'  you  see  what  we  made 
on  her,  sir.  If  you'd  a-seen  her  yesterday,  sir, 
riding  down  that  gorge,  her  father  behind  us 
thar,  sir,  hard  hit,  and  we  didn'  t  know  it !  An' 
we  didn' t  know  her,  sir.  We  saw  them  damned 
volunteers — beg  pardon,  sir — a-firing  at  some- 
body. And  then  we  saw  it  was  a  woman,  so  we 
didn't  shoot,  sir.  God's  marcy,  sir,  we  didn't! 
She  jus'  rode  slow  at  us — sloic^  sir— an'  they  a-fir- 


''KING  STAN."  149 

ing  at  her,  till  we  knowed  who  she  was.  Then, 
sir,  if  they'd  a-killed  her  there  wouldn't  a-bin 
one  on  them  left  this  side  of  hell,  sir — beg  par- 
don, sir." 

"Tell  your  regiment  how  I  respect,  how  I 
honor  them.  They  are  kind  as  they  are  brave. 
When  you  have  seen  your  captain  home  and 
have  had  time  to  try  her  hospitality  I  will  send 
you  back  with  a  flag  of  truce  and  a  letter  for  your 
general.  Until  then  you  are  Captain  Rue' s  pri- 
soners. Miss  Leszinksky,  Captain  Baskerville 
will  go  with  you  to  '  The  Cedars.'  I  do  not  think 
there  is  another  man  in  the  army  would  give  you 
any  trouble,  but  we  will  risk  nothing." 

Then  he  rode  to  the  ambulance,  talked  with 
Dr  Wilson  a  few  moments,  and  was  gone. 

It  was  night  when  the  sad  little  company 
reached  ''The  Cedars."  When  they  were  within 
three  miles  of  the  house  R-ue  rode  rapidly  for- 
ward with  her  escort  to  prepare  for  her  father. 
She  found  the  house  nearly  filled  with  wounded 
officers.  The  division  encamped  there  on  the  27th 
was  gone,  and  roughly-built  wooden  sheds  had 
been  put  up  and  tents  hurriedly  pitched  to  shelter 
the  wounded  who  had  been  able  to  bear  the  re- 
moval this  fax  from  the  battle-field. 


150  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

The  beautiful  lawn  sloped  from  the  house  to  a 
wooded  creek  which  wound  in  many  twisting 
backward  folds  through  the  plantation  before  it 
was  finally  lost  in  a  larger  and  more  sluggish 
stream  that  crept  through  swamps  and  deep  mo- 
rasses to  the  Chickahominy.  The  crowded  house 
and  the  noisy  lawn  determined  Rue  to  take  the 
library  for  her  father. 

It  was  in  a  quiet  wing,  half-detached  from  the 
old  mansion  by  a  square  hall  which  made  a  pri- 
vate entrance  to  the  library  while  separating  it 
from  the  main  building.  It  opened  in  front  upon 
a  garden,  or  pleasaunce,  as  it  was  called  in  early 
colonial  times,  and  was  hidden  from  view,  and 
almost  from  sound,  of  the  tents  on  the  lawn  by  a 
close,  thick  hedge  of  old  clipped  cedars  and  a 
tangle  of  untrimmed  cedars  beyond  the  hedge, 
which,  with  the  scattered  clumps  of  loftier  trees 
that  dotted  the  grounds,  gave  its  name  to  the 
estate. 

Behind  the  library  a  grassy  slope  of  velvety 
turf  stretched  in  long,  billowy  rolls  to  the  peb- 
bled bank  of  the  encircling  creek. 

A  hedge,  so  wide  that  it  seemed  rather  a  strip 
of  tangled  undergrowth  and  dwarfed  cedars,  en- 
tirely defended  these  grounds  from  view  or  en- 


''KING  STAN,"  15i 

trance  from  the  offices  and  outbuildings  which 
were  behind  the  opposite  wing. 

At  nine  o'  clock  the  ambulance  arrived.  Rue' s 
hurried  arrangements  were  all  completed,  and  in 
less  than  half  an  hour  her  father  was  in  the  bed 
she  had  prepared,  and  with  him  were  the  sur- 
geons, who  had  been  hastily  called  from  their 
quarters  on  the  lawn  to  the  consultation  in  the 
library. 

Shut  out  from  her  father's  presence  Eue'«  first 
thought  was  to  send  for  Steenie ;  and  then  she 
busied  herself  with  other  tasks— with  care  of 
the  wounded  in  the  house,  and  with  the  prepa- 
ration and  distribution  of  things  needed  in  the 
meagrely-provided  hospital  tents,  and  with  ar- 
rangements for  Bob  and  her  escort 

Notwithstanding  Rue's  intensity  and  the  zeai 
with  which  she  undertook  these  new  duties,  there 
was  in  everything  she  did  thought  of  her  father, 
but  thought  that  was  entirely  unlike  the  con- 
fident looking  forward  to  affectionate  approval 
which  had  been  so  large  an  influence  in  her  life. 
Now  there  was  a  half-formed  sub-consciousness 
that  she  was  doing  what  her  father  would  have 
wished  her  to  do,  at  terrible  cost  to  herself,  and 
that  he  might  never  know,  mi^ht  never  under- 


153  THE  MODERN  ffAOAR. 

Stand,  that  it  was  because  of  his  teaching,  and  of 
her  love  for  him  and  reverence  for  his  teaching, 
that  she  was  forcing  herself  to  think  of  duty. 
To  think  of  duty  when  she  knew  she  was  about 
to  lose  the  father  who  had  always  been  nearer 
and  dearer  to  her  than  all  others  !  From  her 
babyhood  he  had  been  her  idol.  Her  friendships 
had  always  been  loves,  but  her  father  had  been 
supreme  in  her  life.  For  his  sake  she  had  put 
aside  sorrows  that  she  had  never  forgotten. 

But  with  the  thought  of  his  loss— and  the 
thought  had  been  present  with  her  as  a  convic- 
tion from  the  instant  she  had  understood  that  he 
was  wounded — came  the  old  griefs. 

When  the  work  she  had  set  herself  was  finish- 
ed she  went  into  the  hall  next  the  library  to  wait 
for  the  coming  of  the  surgeons,  who  were  still 
there.  She  could  hear  quick  steps  uiDon  the  un- 
carpeted  floor  and  subdued  voices.  Then  in  a  still 
interval  she  heard  a  gasping  moan.  With  a 
shriek,  which  even  in  that  outburst  of  agon}^  she 
tried  to  repress,  she  fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 
Dr.  Wilson  found  her  there.  The}^  carried 
her  to  her  room,  and  when  she  recovered  con- 
sciousness pain  and  grief  were  lost  in  the  dull 
lethargy  produced  by  narcotics. 


BOOK     THIED 


FIDUS  ET  AUDAX, 


Phcehus  volentem  pi'celia  me  loqui, 
Vict  as  et  urbes,  increpuit  lyra; 
Ne  parva  Tyrrhenum  per  cequor 
Vela  darem." 

— Horace,  liber  iv.  ode  xv. 


TKTIT    FIK,ST,    '61    TO    '68 


THE  PANORAMA   OF  WAB. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

*'  A  greater  power  than  we  can  contradict 
Hath  thwarted  our  intents." 

THE  messenger  sent  for  Steenie  the  day  after 
her  father  was  brought  home  to  "The  Ce- 
dars" found  her  with  Mrs.  Hartley.  The 
noise  of  the  cannonade  and  the  knowledge  that 
her  father  was  in  the  battle  had  such  effect 
upon  the  nervous,  delicate  child  that  the  sisters 
at  the  convent  had  yielded  to  Mrs.  Hartley's  en- 
treaty that  Steenie  might  stay  with  her  until  the 
battle,  which  must  decide  the  fate  of  Richmond, 
should  be  lost  or  won. 

Kate  and  Anne  Warrington  were  domiciled 
with  a  maiden  lady,  a  kinswoman  of  the  War- 
ringtons.  For  a  picture  of  the  past  and  the 
reason  of  Kate's  residence  in  Richmond  I  will 
transcribe  two  letters  lying  upon  Kate's  desk- 
one  from  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  and  an  unfinished  re- 
ply, which  were  hastily  gathered  up  and  carried 
to  "  The  Cedars  "  when  the  messenger  arrived  at 
Miss  Esmond's,  whither  he  had  been  sent  from 
the  convent ; 


158  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

{Mrs.   Carisbrooke  to  Mrs.  Hartley  from    St. 

Catherine's  Wells,  Canada,  May  10,  1862.) 

^ '  My  deae  Kate  ;  A  Kentucky  friend  has 
offered  to  send  any  letters  I  could  have  ready  for 
Richmond  to-morrow  with  assurance  of  their  safe 
and  speedy  arrival.  I  shall  obey  the  instructions 
you  gave  Mrs.  Cartaret  and  send  this  care  of 
Miss  Esmond,  Richmond,  mth  whom  Mrs.  Carta- 
ret thinks  you  and  Anne  Warrington  may  be 
staying.  I  am  assured  that  it  will  be  put  in  her 
hands. 

*'  I  have  had  no  news  of  you  since  Mrs.  Carta- 
ret left  you  at  Belle  view  in  March  and  so  success- 
fully ran  the  blockade  w^hile  McClellan  was 
watching  Johnston's  Quaker  guns.  That  ex- 
ceedingly limited  note  which  Mrs.  Cartaret  en- 
closed in  a  letter  from  Oakhill  is  the  only  scrap 
of  your  writing  I  have  seen  since  I  parted  with 
you  in  Washington  last  September. 

"Mrs.  Cartaret  Avi'ote  me  that  she  left  Anne 
Warrington  at  Belle  view  ;  and  she  also  wrote  of 
this  second  burning  of  '  Castlewood.'  You  will 
know  how  sorry  we  were  to  hear  of  tliat  loss. 
It  is  one  that  must  affect  all  Virginians  ;  for 
the  home  of  the  Esmond- Warringtons  was  the 
scene  of    many  famous   gatherings  of   the  old 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  159 

colonial  gentry,  and  there  were  found  the  MS. 
notes  of  that  wonderful  autobiography  of  their 
illustrious  ancestor  which  Mr.  Thackeray  has  so 
happily  edited.  It  is  a  matter  of  congratulation 
to  us  all  that  the  old  family  portraits  were  saved. 

' '  My  dear  rebel  friend,  if  this  burning  goes  on 
it  will  disturb  and  i^ossibly  kill  my  known  loy- 
alty. 

"  Now,  you  know  that  I  was  particularly  dis- 
gusted with  Southern  assumption  before  and 
after  the  battle  of  Bull  Run,  just  as  I  had  been 
with  the  contemptuous  phrases  with  which  the 
Northern  newspapers  were  filled  apropos  of  '  chi- 
valry' and  of  'fieet-footed  Virginians.' 

"  I  assure  you,  my  Kate,  that  after  you  left  us 
I  was  in  the  most  vibratory  state  of  mind.  I  had 
become  impressed  with  the  idea  that  I  was  the 
only  sane  person  of  my  acquaintance  ;  and  when 
the  wildly  insane  of  the  Northern  or  Southern 
incurables  opened  up  in  my  presence  in  rabid 
abuse  of  the  unfortunate  section  which  their 
geographical  lunacy  opposed,  why  somehow,  be- 
fore I  was  exactly  conscious  a  dispute  was  be- 
gun, I  was  in  the  thick  of  a  wordy  battle. 

"The  only  peculiarity  in  my  case  was  the 
double  lunacy.     My  interlocutors  had  one  indi- 


160  .  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

visible  and  well-defined  mania.  In  spite  of  my- 
self I  had  either  two  or  none.  Before  a  battle 
I  was  for  both  sections.  After  the  lists  of  the 
killed  and  wounded  came,  I  was  ready  to  cry  out 
with  Mercutio,  '  A  plague  o'  both  your  houses.' 

'^If  I  had  gone  South  with  you,  Kate,  what  a 
Unionist  I  should  have  become  !  It  would  have 
completely  reunited  the  Cincinnati  'house  of 
the  Carisbrookes.' 

*' Confidentially  I  will  tell  you  that  Caris- 
brooke  and  Molly  are  nearly  rabid.  Carisbrooke 
was  always  a  Federalist ;  and  Molly,  through 
sympathy  with  'Eed-head,'  out-Herods  Caris- 
brooke and  completely  distances  'Red-head' 
himself.  He,  poor  fellow,  is  my  only  support  in 
my  opposing  household.  He— well,  he  dashes 
the  Abolitionists,  and  fights  sturdily  on  because 
of  the  flag  above  him  and  the  one  that  chal- 
lenges it  across  the  way. 

"  To  prove  to  you  how  broad-church  I  have 
become  in  these  modern  days  I  need  only  men- 
tion that  I  smile  patiently  when  'Red-head's' 
dashes  are  most  resonantly  audible. 

"  Now  for  what  I  hear  from  Paris. 

*'  My  friend's  news  is  told  in  this  wise 

*'  '  The  gi-eat  sensation  of  Paris  is  the  beautiful 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  161 

Miss  Hilton,  whom  I  met  at  Molly's  wedding. 
Her  beanty  and  her  eccentricities  are  a  wonder 
to  the  French,  and  even  startle  the  American 
colony.  Were  she  one  atom  less  beantiful  the 
"eccentricities"  wonld  be  quickly  transposed 
into  "  shocking  imprudences."  But  when  a  wo- 
man is  a  living,  breathing  goddess  she  is  above 
the  plane  of  feminine  jealousy.  It  is  now  a  thing 
of  national  pride  to  challenge  the  world  with  her 
perfections.  It  seems  she  quarrelled  with  Mrs. 
Cartaret,  whose  first  husband  was  her  relative, 
and  thus  lost  a  discreet  chaperone — a  chaperone 
rated  in  Paris  (outside  of  the  colony)  as  en- 
tirely comme  il  faut.  Since  then  Miss  Hilton 
has  a  sheep-dog— a  retired  governess  promoted 
to  companion.  This  would  be  suflicient  for  an 
emancipated  young  married  woman,  but  it  is 
hardly  the  thing  for  a  young  girl  who  drives  in 
the  Bois  in  the  centre  of  a  cavalcade  of  admirers. 
'''Even  the  philosophic  "colony"  smiled 
cynically  last  week  when  they  saw  a  young 
American  officer  by  her  side  and  the  "sheep- 
dog" alone  on  the  opposite  seat,  its  innocent 
pug  cocked  at  the  passers-by  or  else  turned 
with  a  mildly  contemplative  glance  at  the  lake- 
side. 


Ifi2  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

''  '  The  goddess  plays  the  American  against  the 
fast  and  disreputable — if  dukes  can  be  disreputa- 
ble— Due  de  Rameaux.  It  is  currently  reported 
that  she  is  engaged  to  the  man  of  buttons,  but  is 
ready  to  throw  him  over  for  a  ducal  title  and  a 
place  at  court.  Query,  Will  the  due  propose? 
That  depends  !  Is  Miss  Hilton  an  heiress  ?  If 
she  is  not  I  suppose  her  engagement  with  the 
young  officer  will  bloom  into  orange-flowers 
another  season.' 

"  My  conclusion,  from  what  my  correspondent 
writes,  is  that  the  engagement  is  real — real,  un- 
less the  grandchild  of  the  prince  of  gamblers 
shuffles  a  court-card  from  the  pack  of — follow- 
ers. But  I  suppose  you  know  more  of  Miss 
Hilton,  nee  Hoyt,  than  I  do.  Mrs.  Cartaret  went 
straight  to  you  when  she  returned  from  Paris 
last  January. 

' '  How  queer  seems  this  talk  of  dukes  and  Miss 
Hilton  with  Lucy  sitting  by  the  window  sewing  ! 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  that  she  is  much 
better.  We  brought  her  home  from  the  asylum 
in  March,  and  Carisbrooke  thought  she  had  best 
come  with  me  here. 

"  I  will  let  the  subject  slip  off  my  table.  There 
are  other  bits  to  write  3'ou.     You  have  heard  the 


THE  FAXOMAMA  OF  WAB,  l(j3 

senile  raptures  of  grandmothers,  and  yon  shall 
not  catch  me  sinning  that  fashion.  But  I  do 
wish,  my  Kate,  you  could  see  the  infant  that  bears 
the  name  Carisbrooke  Carson.  I  think  the  ab- 
breviation far  prettier,  and  to  please  me  Molly 
calls  my  grandson  '  Brooke.'  Of  course  there  are, 
and  have  been,  wonderful  exhibitions  of  infan- 
tile wisdom  in  the  house  since  he  oame,  '  trailing 
his  clouds  of  glory.'  But  for  the  telling  of  these 
things  look  not  to  me.  Since  I  left  home — to 
cool  my  own  and  my  neighbors'  tempers — I  have 
pages  from  Molly  that  are  chronicles  of  the  book 
of  perfections  she  is  busy  comi3iling.  You  will 
be  surprised  to  hear  that  Carisbrooke  himself  is 
no  wiser.  I  did  not  think  to  live  to  see  his  pre- 
mature dotage. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  end  this  letter  without 
a  word  of  military  comment.  I  cannot  resist  the 
whisi^er  of  a  question.  Do  you  not  thinlv  ice 
have  so  set  our  nets  that  we  shall  catch  Rich- 
mond? If  we  do  capture  the  virgin  city  wliat 
will  you  do,  my  Kate  '\  That  you  could  not  go 
to  Paris  with  Mrs.  Cartaret  and  leave  your  peo- 
ple at  Belle  view  to  the  chan€es  of  war  I  easih^ 
understand.  That  you  would  not  stay  in  Wash- 
ington ^\dthont  her  I  also  understood.     But  now 


164  TUJ::  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Mrs.  Cartaret  is  at  Oakhill.     Will  you  not  come 
there,  Kate? 

*'  I  will  offer  you  a  bribe.  If  you  will  come  to 
Oakliill,  iDlien  the  road  to  Richmond  is  opened^ 
I  will  meet  you  there  and  stay  until  after  peace 
is  made.  Frankly,  I  would  not  care  to  be  in 
Cincinnati  while  peace  is  a-making.  I  am  sure 
I  should  turn  secessionist  or  mad  with  the 
cackle  I  should  hear.  At  Oakhill  you  and  Ju- 
lia and  I  would  go  into  mourning  for  the  'na- 
tion that  had  not  the  strength  to  be  born.' 

"Now,  Kate,  my  dainty  Kate,  write,  'an  thou 
lovest  me.'  I  know  you  can  and  will  find  a 
trustworthy  bearer  of  despatches.  And  do  not 
fail  to  write  news  of  Leszinksky,  and  Rue,  and 
Steenie.  Where  is  Roane  ?  You  can  direct  here 
— until  the  road  opens — for  I  will  not  return  to 
Cincinnati  until  the  malady  that  tr ought  me 
here  is  cured. 

''Always  yours, 

"Virginia  Caeisbrooke.'* 

{Mrs.  Hartley  to  3Irs.  Carishrooke  from  Rich- 
mondy  June  25^  1862.) 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Carisbrooke:  To  prove  to 
you  how  glad  I  was   at   sight  of  your  letter  I 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  165 

have  only  just  finished  the  reading  and  am 
already  commencing  an  answer.  It  will  have  to 
be  written  in  patchwork  fashion. 

*'The  excitement  here  is  too  great  for  me  to 
settle  steadily  even  to  a  talk  on  paper  with  you. 
Everybody  in  the  town  is  in  some  way  busy  wdth 
the  iDreparations  for  the  defence  of  Richmond— 
which,  let  me  assure  you  now,  your  people  will 
not  capture.  But  I  do  not  believQ  one  iota  of 
what  you  say  of  your  Unionism.  Blood  is 
thicker  than  water,  and  you  are  a  Virginian.  So 
hereafter  when  I  say  your  people  I  shall  mean  us. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  quarrelled  with  your 
bloodthirsty  Yankee  neighbors.  You  might  as 
well  have  told  me  the  story  :  I  know  you  have 
quarrelled  mth  every  one  of  them,  else  why  are 
you  in  St.  Catherine' s  with  a  malady  that  has  no 
name?  It  must  have  been  a  battle-royal  before 
they  routed  you.  Yes,  I  knov/  it  aU :  you  were 
routed,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons,  or  you  would 
never  have  retreated  from  before  the  enemy.  Let 
me  console  you  wdth  one  reflection :  we  are 
fighting  your  battle  here,  and  we  wiU  win  it. 

"  When  General  McClellan  is  captured,  or  flies 
before  Stonewall  Jackson's  foot-cavalry,  you  can 
go  back  to  Cincinnati  in  a  most  serene  and  for- 


166  THE  MOUERy  HAiJAlL 

giving  state  of  mind.  It  makes  me  laugh  to 
think  of  the  amiable  manner  with  which  you 
will  salute  your  neighbors,  and  the  grum  and  re- 
luctant way  with  which  they  will  receive  your 
sisterly  advances.  O  my  dearly  beloved  Vir- 
ginia !  you  cannot  go  back  of  your  certificate  of 
birth  and  baptism.  Your  'State'  is  your  mo- 
ther and  your  godmother.  Yet  for  Molly's  sake 
and  for  Doctor  Carisbrooke' s  (how  did  he  ever 
get  so  twisted?)  you  may  smile  your  very  sweet- 
est at  your  foes  on  '  the  hill '  after  we  have  made 
Richmond  as  mournful  a  sound  to  them  as  Bull 
Run  was  last  summer.  Don't  I  know?  Did  I 
not  walk  down  to  the  Potomac  and  glorify  at  the 
return  of  the  champagne  brigade  who  had  gone" 
out  to  see  Beauregard  captured  and  to  take  their 
luncheon  on  the  battle-field?  And  did  I  not 
smile  at  women  who,  I  knew,  were  wishing  they 
could  strangle  me  ? 

''I  stopped  writing  just  here  to  see  a  brigade 
of  Mississippians  go  by.  They  were  with  Jack- 
son in  the  Valley.  I  can  hear  the  people  shout- 
ing down  the  street  as  the  battle-scarred  flags 
float  out  and  show  who  they  are  and  where  they 
have  been. 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  1C7 

"  You,  who  knew  Richmond  in  its  old  '  Sleepy 
Hollow'  days,  would  never  think  it  the  same 
town.  When  I  for  an  instant  forget  our  sur- 
roundings and  put  on  my  bonnet  for  a  '  constitu- 
tional,' the  moment  the  front  door  is  closed  be- 
hind me  I  find  myself  in  a  military  camp — sol- 
diers everywhere,  and  in  these  last  two  months 
heavy  guns  always  passing  through  the  city. 
There  is  a  constant  tramp,  tramp  of  infantry 
and  the  clash  of  cavalry  sabres  as  the  horsemen 
go  by. 

''I  make  morning  calls  and  find  every  draw- 
ing-room crowded  with  officers— not  merelj^  those 
on  duty  here,  but  those  sent  here  on  army  re- 
quirements. There  are  also  navy  officers  wait- 
ing for  ships.  When  they  are  to  get  them  is  the 
question.  If  I  were  a  man  I  would  volunteer  in 
the  trenches  sooner  than  stand  idly  by  and  let 
some  one  else  win  my  independence  for  me. 

''How  delighted  you  would  be,  despite  your 
Unionism,  with  the  spirit  of  our  women  I  Not 
a  break  in  the  line  ;  no  faltering  where  sacrifice 
is  called  for.  They  have  dropped  their  petti- 
nesses and  affectations  as  they  would  in  other 
days  have  discarded  obsolete  fashions. 

"All  are  alike,,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor. 


168  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

doing  their  very  best ;  and  it  is  sometMng  to  see 
such  women  at  their  best.  It  makes  one  feel 
that  the  country  is  worth  living  and  dying  for. 
Without  that  how  terrible  would  be  these  scenes  : 
these  broken  families,  the  suffering  wounded, 
and^  worst  of  all,  the  dead — our  dead — that  we 
are  all  resolved  shall  not  have  died  in  vain  ! 

*'  A  little  over  a  year  ago  we  laughed  at  society 
doing  the  military  and  at  the  declamatory  talk  of 
pretty  viragoes  ;  six  months,  we  thought,  would 
finish  the  worry.  A  year  has  gone  since  then — a 
3^ear — with  the  end  no  nearer.  But  the  pretty 
viragoes  are  changed  ;  they  are  patient  women 
now,  prayerfully  waiting  events,  taking  up  ear- 
nestly the  duties  of  each  hour.  The  most  frivo- 
lous are  hushed  and  awe-stricken  in  the  presence 
of  the  griefs  that  are  in  our  midst.  Poor  little 
butterflies  !  the  gloss  is  brushed  from  their  wings. 

'^June  27. — But  you  want  personal  news  of 
your  relatives  and  your  old  friends.  General 
Leszinksky  has  been  at  'The  Cedars,'  or  near 
there,  for  the  last  two  weeks.  He  was  in  the  Val- 
ley with  Jackson  and  was  promoted  this  month  for 
'  gallantry  in  the  field.'  He  now  commands  a  bri- 
gade which  was  camped  at  'The  Cedars'  until 
Inst  week.     Three  days  ago  he  was  in  Riclimond. 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  1G9 

I  met  liim  on  the  liill  near  Mr.  Davis's  residence. 
He  was  on  horseback,  riding  with  a  gentleman  in 
a  plain  gray  suit  who  wore  no  insignia  of  rank. 
As  I  bowed  they  rode  over  to  the  sidewalk  to 
speak  to  me,  and  under  the  slouch  hat  of  Gene- 
ral Leszinksky's  companion  I  recognized  the 
calm,  grand  face  and  soft,  dark  eyes  of  our  com- 
manding general.  Our  talk  was  the  very  brief- 
est, but  your  cousin  asked  if  I  '  had  any  news  of 
the  Carisbrookes  and  Carson.'  He  said  he  would 
send  Rue  and  Steenie  to  Richmond,  and  pro- 
mised they  might  come  with  me  from  the  con- 
vent if  ^things  grew  dangerous.'  I  looked  at 
General  Lee  as  I  said,  '  You  mean  if  the  enemy 
are  likely  to  take  the  city  ? '  I  did  not  mean  to 
ask  Mm  the  question,  but  he  answered  it :  '  Do 
not  be  alarmed.  You  are  safe  in  Richmond. 
These  people  will  be  captured  or  driven  back  to 
Hampton  Roads.'  Then  w^e  shook  hands  and  I 
walked  on  with  tearful  eyes  and  a  swelling  in  my 
throat.  '  TJiese  people  will  he  crushed  or  driv- 
en^^  hut  oh  !  at  what  cost. 

*'  Yesterday  Mammy  Sara  came  and  brought 
me  a  note  from  Rue.  General  Leszinksky  had 
directed  her  to  come  with  Steenie  to  Richmond. 
She   sent   Steenie,   but   Rue    would    not    come. 


170  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

I  think  it  is  the  first  time  she  ever  disobeyed 
her  father.  He  must  doubt  the  result ;  at 
least  there  is  apprehension  when  he  sends  his 
daughters  to  town.  And  '  The  Cedai^  '  are  fur- 
ther from  the  enemy  than  the  enemy  is  from 
Richmond.  Mammy  Sara  said  that  Steenie  was 
ill  from  pure  fright  and  nervousness,  so  Anne 
Warrington  and  I  went  to  the  convent  for  the 
child.  The  sisters  let  her  come  with  us,  and  she 
is  now  out  with  Anne  and  Miss  Esmond. 

"I  thank  you  for  news  from  Paris. 

"I  am  fond  of  Mai  in  a  way  that  I  cannot 
make  you  understand,  unless  your  feminine  in- 
tuition has  already  given  to  you  the  whys  and 
wherefores.  I  pray  she  may  marry  wisely — 
wisely  meaning  a  marriage  of  affection,  not  am- 
bition. 

"It  is  pitiful  when  one  thinks  how  few  are 
drawn  together,  and  so  heavenward,  by  a  love 
that  touches  the  soul.  We  are  all,  or  almost  all, 
of  the  earth,  eartliy  ;  and  so  we  go  on  stooping 
in  constant  search  of  the  dross  that  glitters,  and 
we  forget  to  look  upward  for  the  light  and 
Avarmth  that  come  from  heaven.  So  the  eyes 
see  only  the  things  for  which  the  baser  senses  cry 
out,  and  we  are  blinded  by  the  darkness  in  which 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR  171 

we  have  lived — so  blinded  that  if  we  are  turned 
at  last  to  the  light  we  stumble. 

*'I  have  already  said  something  of  what  the 
war  is  doing  in  the  w^ay  of  transformation  ;  I  Avas 
about  to  add  Rue  as  an  example.  But  Rue  is 
simply  Rue — nothing  more  nor  less  than  she 
was.  The  war  is  but  the  sombre  setting  of  a 
peerless  jewel ;  the  dark  background  only  brings 
its  facets  into  full  relief. 

"The  rich  heiress  of  ' The  Cedars '  is  the  most 
unselfish  and  simple-minded  woman  I  have  ever 
known.  She  is  also  one  of  the  most  scholarly 
and  unpretentious.  She  w^as  reading  wdth  her 
father  the  winter  before  the  war.  Since  then  she 
has  been  a  hard  and  constant  student  in  every 
spare  moment.  When  I  laughed  at  her  heavy 
reading  she  said,  with  that  slight  flush  and  reso- 
lute look  you  know :  '  I  do  not  care  for  the 
books— I  am  sorry  I  do  not — but  I  do  care  to  be 
my  father's  companion  and  comrade,  and  I  wish 
to  understand  a  subject  that  is  of  such  interest 
to  him.'  The  books  were  on  military  history 
and  military  tactics !  I  remember  your  saying 
she  ought  to  be  queen  of  Poland.  With  what 
strengthened  conviction  you  w^ould  say  it  now! 
She  has  no  rose-and-lily  beauty  ;  nothing  to  sug- 


172  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

gest  comparison  with  the  girl  your  correspondent 
describes  as  a  goddess.  But  Rue  lias  the  most 
wonderfully  refined  and  s^Diritual  face.  It  is  a 
dainty,  delicate  face  at  first  view,  an  Ariel  face ; 
but  I  heard  an  artist  say  last  week — an  artist 
who  had  seen  hsr  riding  by  her  father  s  side  at 
Leesburg  under  the  fire  of  the  enemy' s  artillery : 
you  see  even  our  artists  are  soldiers  now — that 
her  face  was  *  an  inspiration  and  a  revelation ; 
one  only  needed  to  see  it  to  understand  the 
battle-face  of  the  young  girl  who  led  the  French 
to  victory.' 

"  I  could,  and  would  if  I  were  with  you,  talk  of 
Rue  for  hours,  but  I  must  tell  you  of  your  other 
friends. 

*'  General  Roane  is  in  Richmond,  or  rather  out 
on  the  line  of  Richmond's  defences.  He  is  in 
Longstreet's  division,  and  was  with  him  at  Wil- 
liamsburg, where  he  took  five  guns  from  your 
General  Hooker.  When  you  hear  of  Long- 
street's  next  victory,  which  I  trust  and  believe 
you  will  this  week,  you  will  forget  your  Union- 
ism  long  enough  to  rejoice  in  your  friend's  suc- 
cess. 

' '  General  Roane  is  and  has  been  very  kind  to 
me.     On  his  way  from  Williamsburg,  after  he 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  173 

had  whipped  Hooker,  he  stopped  at  Bellevievv, 
sending  one  of  his  aids  to  Richmond  to  ask 
my  permission  to  send  the  servants  here  and 
with  them  everything  of  any  value.  The  house, 
he  said,  would  probably  be  in  the  line  of  the  ene- 
my's march  (they  occupy  it  now  ;  a  servant  who 
had  been  left  there  slipped  the  lines  and  brought 
me  the  news),  and  the  able-bodied  negro  men 
had  better  come  here.  I  sent  him  discretionary 
powers.  The  result  is,  the  greater  number  of 
the  servants  and  everything  of  value  have  been 
sent  to  Danville.  Mr.  Robert  Carisbrooke  is 
there  with  his  family,  and  he  has  been  most  kind 
—as  he  always  is  and  has  been.  Having  been 
my  father's  executor,  it  seems  right  and  proper 
for  me  to  transfer  my  worries  to  him. 

"I  dined  with  Rue  at  'The  Cedars'  the  day 
after  they  arrived  from  the  Valley.  General 
Roane  was  there.  He  is  kind  and  thoughtful  and 
watchful  for  me,  as  his  going  to  Belleview  proved. 
But  his  courtesy  is  distant,  and  there  is  an  em- 
barrassing quality  in  his  manner  that  I  cannot 
well  describe  and  that  would  be  difficult  to  de- 
fine. 

''He  never  mentions  Major  Hartley,  nor  do 
any  of  the  family  at  'The  Cedars ' —which  brings 


1 72  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

gest  comparison  with  the  girl  your  correspondent 
describes  as  a  goddess.  But  Rue  has  the  most 
wonderfully  refined  and  spiritual  face.  It  is  a 
dainty,  delicate  face  at  first  view,  an  Ariel  face ; 
but  I  heard  an  artist  say  last  week — an  artist 
w^ho  had  seen  hsr  riding  by  her  father's  side  at 
Leesburg  imder  the  fire  of  the  enemy' s  artillery : 
you  see  even  our  artists  are  soldiers  now — that 
her  face  was  '  an  inspiration  and  a  revelation ; 
one  only  needed  to  see  it  to  understand  the 
battle-face  of  the  young  girl  who  led  the  French 
to  victory.' 

"  I  could,  and  would  if  I  were  with  you,  talk  of 
Rue  for  hours,  but  I  must  tell  you  of  your  other 
friends. 

*'  General  Roane  is  in  Richmond,  or  rather  out 
on  the  line  of  Richmond's  defences.  He  is  in 
Longstreet's  division,  and  was  with  him  at  Wil- 
liamsburg, where  he  took  five  guns  from  your 
General  Hooker.  When  you  hear  of  Long- 
street's  next  victory,  which  I  trust  and  believe 
you  will  this  week,  you  will  forget  your  Union- 
ism long  enough  to  rejoice  in  your  friend's  suc- 
cess. 

' '  General  Roane  is  and  has  been  very  kind  to 
me.     On  his  way  from  Williamsburg,  after  he 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  173 

had  whipped  Hooker,  he  stopped  at  Bellevievv, 
sending  one  of  his  aids  to  Richmond  to  ask 
my  permission  to  send  the  servants  here  and 
with  them  everything  of  any  value.  The  house, 
he  said,  would  probably  be  in  the  line  of  the  ene- 
my's march  (they  occupy  it  now  ;  a  servant  who 
had  been  left  there  slipped  the  lines  and  brought 
me  the  news),  and  the  able-bodied  negro  men 
had  better  come  here.  I  sent  him  discretionary 
powers.  The  result  is,  the  greater  number  of 
the  servants  and  everything  of  value  have  been 
sent  to  Danville.  Mr.  Robert  Carisbrooke  is 
there  with  his  family,  and  he  has  been  most  kind 
—as  he  always  is  and  has  been.  Having  been 
my  father's  executor,  it  seems  right  and  proper 
for  me  to  transfer  my  worries  to  him. 

"I  dined  with  Rue  at  'The  Cedars'  the  day 
after  they  arrived  from  the  Valley.  General 
Roane  was  there.  He  is  kind  and  thoughtful  and 
watchful  for  me,  as  his  going  to  Belleview  proved. 
But  his  courtesy  is  distant,  and  there  is  an  em- 
barrassing quality  in  his  manner  that  I  cannot 
well  describe  and  that  would  be  difficult  to  de- 
fine. 

'^  He  never  mentions  Major  Hartley^  nor  do 
any  of  the  family  at  'The  Cedars ' —which  brings 


174  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

me  to  a  question  I  wish  to  ask :  Have  you  ever 
heard  of  Major  Hartley's  saying  publicly  that 
my  residence  in  Virginia  '  was  in  opposition  to 
liis  wishes  and  entreaties,  and  that  he  would  be 
glad  if  the  separation  were  com^^leted  by  a  di- 
vorce '  ?  It  is  told  in  Richmond  that  he  said  it, 
and  the  reason  given  is  that  '  he  is  going  over  to 
the  Eepublican  party.'  Miss  Esmond  heard  it 
and  very  properly  told  it  to  me. 

^'I  cannot  talk  of  this  to  General  Leszinksky, 
and  there  is  no  one  else  here  I  could  ask. 

"Can  this  be  a  reason  for  General  Roane's 
changed  manner  ? 

''  You  can  learn  the  truth  and  you  will  tell  it 
to  me. 

' '  You  know  that  I  came  South  with  Captain 
Hartley's  api)robation.  Of  course  I  wanted  to 
come,  but  I  would  have  gone  with  Julia  to  Paris 
if  he  had  advised  it.  He  did  advise  the  very 
course  I  would  have  chosen,  and  I  came  here  be- 
cause of  his  counsel.  He  gave  me  reasons  that  I 
suj)posed  really  influenced  his  opinion.  He  said 
that  the  negroes  might  leave  Belleview  or  be 
seized  by  the  Confederate  government  if  none  of 
the  family  were  iu  the  South.  Did  you  not  hear 
the  subject  mentioned  when  you  were  in  Wash- 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  175 

ington  ?  I  could  write  to  Julia,  but  she  loves  me, 
I  tliiuk,  better  than  she  loves  her  brother,  and  it 
would  embroil  her  with  him  if  she  questioned 
him.  Julia's  temper  is  hot  and  her  words  quick 
and  biting  ;  I  will  not  be  the  cause  of  her  quar- 
relling with  her  brother. 

''  A  young  English  gentleman  is  now  in  Rich- 
mond who  was  in  Paris  for  some  time  this  spring. 
He  brought  me  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Mai. 
Very  frankly  and  innocently  he  spoke  of  her  as 
a  kinswoman  and  ward  of  Captain  Hartley's. 
Do  you  think  he  has  recognized  or  intends  to 
recognize  Mai  as  his  daughter  ?  Do  not  think  I 
should  object ;  on  the  contrary,  I  feel  it  is  what 
he  should  have  done  when  he  placed  her  at 
school  in  Montreal.  Now  explanations  will  be 
awkward  for  Mai's  own  sake. 

"  Steenie  has  returned  from  her  walk.  I  will 
finish  this  letter  to-morrow. 

''O  my  friend!  my  friend!  a  messenger  has 
just  arrived  from  '  The  Cedars.'  Eue  has  sent 
for  me  to  bring  Steenie  home.  Their  father  is 
mortally  wounded. 

''  '  The  Cedar s^'^  June  29. — General Leszinksky 
may  linger  some  time  ;  that  is  what  the  surgeons 


176  TEE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

say  this  morning.  He  has  two  wounds — one  in 
the  right  side  ;  the  ball  has  been  extracted  ;  an- 
other wound  in  the  head.  Dr.  Wilson  tells  me 
that  either  would  be  fatal,  but  you  w^ill  hear 
more  than  I  can  write  from  General  Carson. 
How  good  he  was  to  Rue,  and  how  we  all  love 
him  !  Rue' s  escort  will  be  sent  back  by  General 
Lee  after  this  horrible  battle  is  ended.  I  shall 
finish  this  scrawl  before  they  go. 

''June  30. —  General  Roane  has  just  arrived  with 
a  broken  arm  and  a  slight  wound  in  the  leg.  He 
had  heard  that  General  Leszinksky  was  dying 
and  he  would  be  brought  here.  At  last !  at 
last !  war  has  come  to  us  in  all  its  terror.  Gen- 
eral Leszinksky  is  hardly  ever  conscious.  Rue 
is  with  him  night  and  day,  except  when  Dr. 
Wilson  forces  her  to  rest.  She  does  that  only 
that  she  may  keep  strength  enough  to  nurse 
her  father.  All  his  talk  is  of  long  ago  and 
of  my  cousin  Margaret.  Love  is  stronger  than 
death. 

''July  7. — The  men  are  to  go  to  Hampton 
Roads  to-day.  An  aide  of  General  Lee's  and 
one  of  General  Roane' s  are  to  go  with  a  flag  of 
truce  in  charge  of  Rue's  escort.  I  shall  send 
open  letters  by  the  officers,   but   Bob  Stearns 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR,  177 

takes  this  sewed  securely  in  Ms  jacket.  I  know 
you  will  get  it.  Can  you  not  come  to  Eue  ?  O 
Mrs.  Carisbrooke  !  come  if  possible.  I  fear  tliis 
grief  will  kill  ker.  I  pray  nigkt  and  day  that 
her  father  may  recover  consciousness.  He  alone 
can  reason  with  her. 

"  Lovingly  your  friend, 

''Kate." 

Sometimes  better,  but  never  entirely  conscious, 
General  Leszinksky  lingered  through  the  sum- 
mer. Mrs.  Hartley  and  Anne  Warrington  stayed 
constantly  with  Eue.  Col.  Bradnor  was  at  Fort- 
ress Monroe,  and  everything  an  invalid  needed 
was  sent  by  him  to  ''The  Cedars."  Medicine 
and  delicacies,  even  at  that  date  difficult  to  get  in 
the  Confederacy,  arrived  weekly.  So  the  chain 
was  being  forged ! 

In  the  early  fall  Leszinksky  died.  His  suffer- 
ing made  Rue  willing  to  let  him  go.  In  the  last 
moment  he  was  perfectly  conscious.  Rue  held 
Steenie  in  her  arms  to  kiss  him  ;  he  motioned  for 
Rue  herself,  and  struggled  for  speech  : 

"  Kiss  me — you,  Rue— my  blessing— my  pride 
— my  darling — promise — " 

"  Yes,  my  father,  you  can  trust  me.     I  will 


i;8  THE  MODERN  EAGAR, 

keep  my  promise.     I  will  prefer  Steenie's  happi- 
ness to  mine." 

Again  througli  difficult  effort  at  speech  :  "  Not 
—  that  — promise —  you  won' t — sacrifice —  you — 
Rue — my  Margaret's  child."  And  Rue  was 
fatherless  in  the  instant  she  knew  what  place 
she  held  in  his  heaxt. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

"  O  Navis!  referent  in  mare  te  novi 
Flv.ctu^:' 

{Mrs.  Hartley  to  Mrs,  Car ishrooke from  "The 
Cedars;'   October  25,  1862.) 

""  11 /FY  DEAR  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  :  You  sure- 
|i  ly  never  received  the  long  letter  I  sent 
by  Bob  Stearns.  And  yet  tlie  one  short 
letter  Rue  had  from  General  Carson,  sent  through 
'the  authorities  that  be  in  command  over  us,' 
mentioned  Stearns's  arrival.  In  that  letter  I 
begged  you  to  come  to  '  The  Cedars  ' ;  and  I  am 
very  sure  the  request  Avould  have  been  heeded. 

^'Rue  knew  that  I  had  written  you  to  come, 
and  it  is  evident  to  me  that  she  is  desperately 
hurt  at  the  failure.  She  had  been  so  confident 
of  your  coming,  and  she  also  seemed  sure  Doc- 
tor Carisbrooke  would  come  with  you. 

"  Her  father  was  conscious  for  a  short  time  be- 
fore his  death.  His  dying  words  were  aU  for 
Rue  ;  but  there  was  a  pitiful  look  of  appeal  in 
his  face,  as  though  he  missed  some  one  in  whose 
care  his  daughters  could  be  left. 

179 


180  THE  JlOLEUy  HAGAR. 

"  Rue  spoke  to  me  once,  a  few  days  after  his 
death,  in  a  manner  that  proved  the  bitterness  of 
her  disappointment.  It  was  only  a  short  sen- 
tence, but  the  tone  and  look  said  even  more  than 
the  words :  '  Could  anything  have  kept  my  fa- 
ther or  me  from  going  to  Molly  in  such  an  ex- 
tremity ? ' 

^*  I  will  keep  this  letter  until  I  am  sure  of  a 
safe  messenger  ;  and  if  my  letter  was  not  received 
do  v/rite  an  explanation  to  Rue.  I  have  never 
seen  so  great  a  change  in  any  one  as  that  lament- 
able death  has  made  in  my  cousin.  She  is 
moody,  imperioiis,  and  stubborn,  and,  in  her 
proud  resistance  to  grief,  is  disdainful  of  sympa- 
thy. The  one  sentence  I  have  ^vritten  you  is  the 
only  allusion  I  have  ever  heard  her  make  to  her 
father  since  his  death.  Not  a  servant  is  privi- 
leged to  speak  of  him  ;  and  you  know  what 
an  affectionate  patriarchal  relationship  existed 
between  master  and  servants  at  'The  Cedars.' 

"Steenie  alone  can  do  as  she  likes  with  lier 
sister  ;  and  Steenie  is  being  injudiciously  spoilt. 

"It  would  have  been  so  much  to  these  girls  if 
you  had  been  here !  It  would  be  so  much  to  both 
if  there  were  over  them  the  wise  rule  of  a  firm, 
iviiid  guardian  !     They  have  needed  you.    They 


THE  PANORAMA   OF  WAR.  181 

now  need  General  Carson.  I  believe  their  father 
left  them  to  his  guardianship.  O  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke  !  every  one  that  loved  Stanislaus  Leszink- 
sky  must  think  and  care  for  his  daughters. 

^'General  Roane  was  captured  at  Sharpsburg, 
and  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  see  him  before  he 
returns.  I  hear  his  exchange  has  been  arranged 
by  General  Lee. 

^^Your  brother,  Mr.  Robert  Garisbrooke,  was 
here  last  week.  He  insisted  that  we  should  all 
spend  the  winter  in  Mobile  with  his  wife.  He  has 
taken  to  Alabama  all  of  my  negroes,  except  a 
few  attached  home-servants  who  are  now  living 
in  the  overseer' s  house  at  Belleview.  My  father' s 
home  was  burned  during  the  battle  on  the  Chick- 
ahominy.  I  went  over  there  with  Mr.  Robert 
Garisbrooke  last  week.  Only  stacks  of  tall 
chimneys  are   standing  to  mark  the  ruins. 

^'Two  hundred  of  Rue's  negroes  are  in  Ala- 
bama on  a  plantation  Mr.  Garisbrooke  bought 
for  her.  He  had  quite  a  discussion  with  her 
about  a  gift  she  insisted  on  making  to  the  Con- 
federacy. But  she  had  her  own  way  and  gave 
seventy-five  negro  men  to  the  government.  She 
clothes  and  feeds  them,  and  they  are  to  be  freed 
when  the  war  ends. 


1 82  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

.  "If  Rue  proves  persuadable  we  will  all  go  to 
Mobile  next  month.  I  hope  much  from  General 
Roane' s  influence  ;  and  I  hope  he  will  bring  us 
tidings  of  you. 

'^November  9. — General  Roane  is  here,  but  no 
especial  news  or  letters  from  Rosebank.  I  am 
glad  he  saw  General  Carson.  I  think  the  mes- 
sages he  brought  from  her  father's  oldest  and 
best-beloved  friend  have  softened  Rue.  She  has, 
however,  decided  not  to  go  to  Mobile,  and  for 
what  reason  do  you  suppose?  Why,  Steeiiie 
prefers  to  stay  at  'The  Cedars.'  IS'ot  much 
wonder !     She  is  queen  absolute  on  the  jDlace. 

"  Rue  insists  that  I  shall  go  to  Mobile  ;  and 
as  Dr.  Wilson' s  wife  has  come  and  will  make  her 
home  here  during  the  war,  it  is  decided  that  I 
leave  here  next  week  for  Mobile.  We  stop  on 
the  way  for  a  few  weeks  to  see  to  the  welfare  of 
the  servants  on  the  new  plantation  near  Selma." 

All  that  fall  and  winter  Steenie  was  ill.  and 
Rue  was  roused  out  of  her  grief  to  care  for  the 
child.    That  far  it  was  well  for  her. 

What  was  ill  for  them  both  was  the  effect  upon 
Steenie.  Her  sister's  devotion,  the  unrestrained 
indulgence  of  every  whim,  the  constant  study  of 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR,  183 

the  entire  household  to  anticipate  any  probable 
wish,  fostered  a  selfishness  which  was  hidden— 
as  the  selfishness  of  a  weak  character  often  is — 
under  an  amiable  prettiness  of  manner  which 
made  the  soft-spoken  thanks  seem  over-payment. 

Bob  Stearns  had  strictly  obeyed  orders.  The 
letter  for  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  was  never  taken  from 
its  secure  place  in  his  jacket  until  he  saw  Gen- 
eral Carson,  which— owing  to  a  difficulty  Car- 
son had  with  Pope,  the  newly-appointed  com- 
mander of  the  Federal  Army  of  Virginia— was  in 
September  at  Bowling  Green,  Kentucky. 

The  letter  was  then  given  to  Carson,  where  it 
encountered  fresh  delay.  Late  in  October,  after 
the  battle  of  Perryville,  he  made  a  hurried  visit 
to  Rosebank  and  delivered  the  letter  into  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke' s  hands. 

Through  Doctor  Carisbrooke' s  brother  they  had 
already  heard  of  Leszinksky'  s  death.  Mr.  Robert 
Carisbrooke  wrote  that  he  had  settled  the  able- 
bodied  field-hands  belonging  to  Mrs.  Hartley, 
the  Warringtons,  and  Rue  with  his  own  negroes 
on  lands  he  had  bought  in  Alabama.  This  let- 
ter, written  two  months  later  than  Mrs.  Hart- 
ley's, suggested  a  possibility  that  Kate,  Eue,  and 
Steenie  might  winter  in  Mobile  with  his  wife.     He 


184  THE  MODERN  HAG  AM. 

had  taken  a  large,  comfortable  house  there  be- 
longing to  absentees  who  were  in  Europe,  and 
Mrs.  Robert  Carisbrooke  would  be  glad  to  have 
them  with  her,  for  her  husband  would  be  com- 
pelled to  be  much  of  the  time  upon  the  newly- 
settled  estate  near  Selma. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Carson  and  the  family 
at  Rosebank  were  entirely  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  Rue  was  alone  that  winter  at  "The  Cedars" 
with  only  Steenie,  Mrs.  Wilson,  the  wife  of  the 
surgeon  of  her  father's  brigade,  and  two  invalid 
soldiers  from  Missouri  who  could  not  return  to 
their  homes,  which  were  inside  of  the  Federal 
lines. 

Again  all  outside  kindness  and  lieli)  for  the 
household  at  "The  Cedars"  came  from  Colonel 
Bradnor,  who,  before  and  after  Pope's  disas- 
trous campaign — which,  in  the  opinion  of  that 
braggart,  "entitled  his  army  to  the  gratitude  of 
the  country,"  and  Jackson's  capture  of  Harper's 
Ferry— was  stationed  at  Fortress  Monroe. 

Every  flag- of- truce  boat  that  went  up  the  James 
brought  fresh  proof  of  Bradnor' s  generous 
thoughtfulness  for  the  orphan  daughters  of 
Leszinksky. 

Before   his  regiment  left  Fortress  Monroe  to 


THE  PA^sORAiMA  OF  WAR.  1^5 

join  Burnside  on  tlie  Kappahannock  lie  came  to 
City  Point,  when  General  Roane,  who  had  been 
captured  at  Sharpsburg,  was  exchanged.  With 
Roane's  luggage  were  several  cases  Bradnor  sent 
to  "The  Cedars"  which  provided  comforts  and 
luxuries  for  the  coming  winter. 

After  Burnside' s  defeat,  through  influence  at 
Washington  (Hartley,  converted  from  belief  in 
secession  and  State-rights,  was  now  a  violent 
war  Democrat),  Colonel  Bradnor  was  returned 
to  Fortress  Monroe — a  j)osition  he  doubly  cov- 
eted. It  was  a  pleasant,  safe,  and  comfortable 
post,  and  it  brought  him  again  within  possible 
line  of  communication  with  the  heiress  whose 
fortune  would  more  than  evenly  balance  old 
Simon  Hartley's  conditional  legacy. 

Before  spring  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  a 
pass  for  Rue  and  Steenie  to  go  through  to  Ca- 
nada, and  had  escorted  them  to  Montreal 

Steenie  was  placed  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Sacred  Heart,  where  Rue  was  received  as  a 
guest  until  her  sister's  health  should  be  entirely 
re-established. 

Twice  during  the  summer  Bradnor  visited 
them.  Before  the  second  visit  ended  he  had 
certainly  won  the  affection  of  the  younger  sister. 


186  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Rue's  winter  quarters  were  in  a  small  liotel. 
Mammy  Sara  was  her  only  attendant  and  clia- 
perone.  She  had  heard  through  a  chance  ac- 
quaintance that  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  was  with  some 
friends  who  were  living  in  Paris. 

The  following  summer  Rue  was  again  with  her 
sister,  and  Bradnor's  visits  to  Montreal  were  re- 
peated. 

Steenie  brightened  in  the  glow  of  his  atten- 
tions, and  Rue  argued  well  of  the  man  from  the 
child's  liking. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

"  The  heart  beats  high 
And  the  blood  comes  quick ;  but  the  lips  are  still 
With  awe  and  wonder. 

Alas  for  a  heart  that  is  left  forlorn  ! 

If  you  live,  you  must  love  ;  if  you  love,  regret. 
It  were  better,  perhaps,  we  had  never  been  bom, 

Or  better,  at  least,  we  could  well  forget." 

{Mrs,  Hartley  to  Mrs.  CarishrooTce  from  Mich' 
viond,  May  1,  1863.) 

''  P(INCE  tlie  long  letter  I  wrote  you  from  Mo- 

i^     bile  last  winter  I  have  waited  patiently 

for  the  happy  chance  that  might  bring 

me  a  letter.     Now  I  hear  you  are  in  Paris,  which 

I  most  heartily  regret. 

''Rue  had  gone  with  Steenie  to  Canada  when 
I  reached  here,  although  I  came  in  March  that  I 
might  see  her.  I  trust  General  Carson  may  go 
there  to  see  them. 

''Captain  Hartley's  cousin,  Colonel  Bradnor, 
got  them  a  pass  and  escorted  them  to  Montreal. 
He  has  been  most  constant  and  considerate  in  at- 
tention since  he  met  Rue  at  the  time  her  father 

187 


188  THE  MODERN  HAOAH. 

was  wounded.  During  General  Leszinksky's  ill- 
ness, and  since,  lie  has  never  failed  to  keep  them 
supplied  with  every  possible  luxury  which  an  in- 
valid might  need.  He  sends  me  Rue's  short 
notes  telling  of  Steenie's  improvement  and  her 
devotion  to  this  new  friend — Rue  tells  me 
nothing  of  herself — and  then  he  despatches  to 
her  the  long  letters  in  which  I  write  her  news 
from  her  people  at  'The  Cedars.'  She  asks  no 
questions  and  expresses  no  interest  in  aught 
else. 

"I  know  you  do  not  over-much  admire  Brad- 
nor,  but  you  will  like  him  for  his  goodness  to 
these  denr  children. 

''Before  this  you  will  have  seen  Julia.  Colo- 
nel Bradnor  sent  me  a  letter  from  her  last  month 
written  in  February  ;  and  Captain  Hartley  is  also 
in  Paris,  Julia  writes. 

' '  All  are  there  for  Mai  Hilton' s  marriage  with 
the  Due  de  Rameaux.  What  a  fit  coronal  the 
strawberry -leaves  will  make  for  that  exquisite 
Greek  brow ! 

"I  intend  to  send  you  all  the  private  and  pub- 
lic news  I  can  gather  here  to  bribe  you  to  wiite 
me  full  chapters  of  this  marriage  of  'Hagar  s' 
daughter. 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  189 

^'Be  sure  to  tell  Bie  of  Lucy.  Where  is  she, 
and  how  is  she  ? 

''But  a  truce  to  these  questions,  which  show 
you  how  curious  I  am. 

*'I  will  now  give  you  my  news. 

"You  know  what  good  work  the  women  of 
Richmond  are  doing  in  the  hospitals,  and  that 
when  needs  at  home  j)ress  them  most  hardly. 
The  general  scarcity  of  everything  is  more  felt 
here  than  in  the  country,  Avhere  there  are  ways  of 
patching  up  dinners  as  well  as  dresses. 

"Charity  here  means  more  than  giving;  it 
means  close,  persistent  denial  of  self  to  have 
something  to  give. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  every  time  I  re- 
turn to  Richmond,  after  even  a  short  absence, 
life  seems  more  earnest  than  elsewhere.  In  Mo- 
bile, for  instance,  there  are  all  sorts  of  distrac- 
tions, but  here  the  family  life  is  merged  in  the 
national  life.  Possibly  it  is  the  reflection  of  the 
heroic  lives  of  the  leaders  wliich  makes  the  dif- 
ference. Possibly  it  is  the  result  of  the  stately, 
dignilied  manners  of  these  Virginian  women,  who 
have  been  alv/ays  excellent  managers,  'keepers 
at  home,'   'looking  well  to  the  ways  of   their 


1  yO  THE  MODERN  BA  QAR. 

liouseliolds/  jSow  that  life  broadens,  with 
anxieties  shared,  privations  endured  in  com- 
mon, these  things  affect  society. 

"Not  that  Richmond  is  melodramatic  ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  exceedingly  simx3le  and  natural. 
Human  nature  cannot  breakfast,  dine,  and  sup 
with  griefs. 

"  There  are  moments  when  the  very  contrast  of 
ills  brings  about  the  broadest  farce.  People  have 
learned  to  laugh  when  they  are  hurt. 

"  There  is  always  real  pity  and  sympathy  for 
the  soldier  in  camp  and  hospital,  but  a  civilian 
had  better  not  tell  his  ailings  ;  he  will  get  scant 
liearing  and  scanter  pity.  If  a  clerk  in  a  de- 
partment comjDlains  of  worn  shoes  and  high  prices 
somebody  is  sure  to  remark,  'Stonewall  Jack- 
son's men  are  barefoot,'  and  the  poor  fellow  turns 
away  ashamed  of  his  slight  grievance. 

"As  to  the  ladies'  toilets,  they  are  the  queer- 
est possible  compound  of  ancient  elegance  and 
recent  addition.  Print  dresses  and  point  lace 
have  come  to  dwell  together  in  amity. 

"  You  remember  how  careful  Anne  has  always 
been  of  her  better  most  things  ?  Now  she  has  no 
other  than  bettermost,  all  else  being  past  wear  ; 
and  so  she  is  a  model  of  the  style  which  prevailed 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  191 

the  last  year  of  the  Union.  She  breakfasted  out 
the  other  morning  in  a  dress  last  worn  in  a  Wash- 
ington crush,  looking  like  a  faded  fashion-plate. 

"Dress  is  a  consideration  that  begins  to  make 
itself  felt.  Blessed  are  they  who  can  make  or 
bny  homespun  !  Mr.  Davis  has  had  a  beautiful 
suit  of  Jeans  given  him,  and  he  wears  it  with  evi- 
dent pride. 

*'Miss  Esmond  gave  an  afternoon  tea  this 
week,  and  there  was  great  fun  telling  the  age 
and  history  of  different  garments. 

"Anne  Warrington  came  down  late  because 
her  dress  was  too  gorgeous  for  daylight.  It  was 
a  yellow  brocade  petticoat,  and  for  overdress  a 
'fly'  with  broad  stripes  of  white  and  blue  with 
little  bouqnets  of  pink  roses  dotted  here  and  there  ; 
the  sleeves  came  to  the  elbow  and  finished  with 
a  heavy  fall  of  old  lace  ;  the  waist  doubly -pointed. 
It  had  belonged  to  an  ancestral  great-grandaunt 
who  was  a  colonial  belle.  With  high-heeled 
slippers  and  her  hair  puffed  over  an  old-fashion- 
ed comb,  you  may  imagine  how  pretty  Anne  was. 
She  looked  so  conscious  and  coquettish  that 
everybody  laughed  when  she  began  a  little 
speech  about  her  'utter  destitution  and  the 
straits  to  which  she  was  reduced.' 


1 92  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

''  The  fun  all  goes  out  of  this  when  the  move- 
ment of  troops  brings  through  the  city  men  rag- 
ged and  brown,  hatless,  and,  last  spring  in  the 
wild  March  weather,  shoeless. 

^'The  day  after  I  reached  here  from  Mobile 
there  came  through  a  regiment  of  the  Stonewall 
brigade ;  not  a  dozen  men  in  the  command 
decently  shod,  and  the  day  a  drizzly  sleet.  The 
torn,  battle-scarred  flags  were  recognized,  and 
women  and  children  crowded  the  sidewalks. 
They  gathered  in  knots  of  twos  and  threes,  with 
little  bursts  of  exclamation  and  sympathy.. 
Finally,  crowding  together  in  the  magnetism  of 
common  feeling,  they  made  a  rush  for  the  head 
of  the  column,  and  the  officers  Avere  begged  to 
halt  and  let  the  men  dine  in  the  houses  on  each 
side,  where  hospitable  doors  were  opened  wide. 
The  dinner  was  accepted,  and  women  scattered 
to  go  home  in  haste  and  bring  their  best  to  the 
impromptu  feast. 

' '  There  was  a  closer  gathering  of  the  crowd  in 
the  streets  while  the  men  were  in  the  liouses,  and 
again  women  hurried  about,  stopi)ing  a  moment 
at  different  doors,  gathering  contributions  from 
the  scanty  supply  of  many  a  worn  purse. 

"In  not  much  longer  time  than  it  takes  to 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  193 

write  it  every  shoe-store  in  the  town  was  cleared 
of  its  stock. 

^'  Again  about  those  homes  where  the  men  were 
the  street  was  filled  with  women  waiting  till  the 
dinner  was  finished,  with  its  rare  treat  of  real 
coffee.  Then  as  the  men  came  ont  they  were 
told  to  come  to  a  store  at  the  corner  and  get 
shoes  and  socks. 

"  The  bronzed,  weather-beaten  faces  were  aglow 
with  thanks.  A  word  was  passed  down  the  line, 
and  after  a  short  consultation  a  young  lieutenant 
came  with  the  answer :  '  Ladies,  we  camped  last 
night  on  the  heights,  at  Camp  Lee,  with  the  new 
recruits.  They  are  boys  mostly,  not  inured  to 
hardship,  and  the  government  has  no  shoes  for 
them.  Give  them  these.  We  are  Stonewall 
Jackson's  foot-cavalry,  and  we  can  fight  best 
barefoot.' 

' '  Who  can  tell  how  these  women  wept  ?  Who 
will  believe  such  men  will  fail  to  win  ? 

''Coy Tier's  Springs,  August  10,  1863.— Anne 
and  I  were  a  week  at  the  Yellow  Sulphur, 
and  then  came  here  to  this  hottest  of  all  val- 
leys, where  society  is  trying  to  get  cool  danc- 
ing nightly— 'society'  being  wounded  and  con- 
valescent soldiers,  wives  and  daughters  of  officers 


104  THE  MODERN  HAUAR. 

at  the  front,  and  semi-detached  Senators  and 
Congressmen  with  no  visible  constituency,  for 
the  blue-coats  hold  their  precincts.  We  take 
rides  in  the  country  and  find  the  peoi)]e  suffering 
great  hardships,  but  bearing  their  ills  bravely 
and  patiently. 

'*  Who  will  be  found  worthy  to  write  the  his- 
tory of  these  Virginian  women  ? 

''Up  the  mountains  one  morning  we  stumbled 
over  a  family  living  in  a  double  log-house  with 
tumbled-down  outhouses.  There  were  three  wo- 
men and  seven  children,  the  gathered  remnants 
of  four  families  whose  homes  had  been  broken 
ui)  near  Fredericksburg.  They  were  living  on 
corn-bread  and  the  milk  of  two  cows,  exchanging 
their  butter  for  salt.  Only  the  proceeds  of  a 
'  truck-patch  '  to  depend  on  for  the  coming  win- 
ter. No  labor  but  tlieir  own  and  the  feeble 
assistance,  w^hich  was  likely  to  grow  into  an  en- 
cumbrance, of  one  old  negro  and  his  bent,  rheu- 
matic wife  wlio  had  followed  their  broken  for- 
tunes. 

"These  were  cultivated,  gently  nurtured  wo- 
men ;  two  of  them  widows,  made  so  by  the  war. 
The  third  had  her  husband,  and  the  widows  had 
two  sons  with  Lee.     To  see  these  women  work- 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  195 

ing,  and  trying  to  feed  the  children  and  raise  a 
little  cotton  ('a  little  cotton,'  as  they  said,  'to 
make  socks  and  shirts  for  our  soldiers'),  in 
faded,  patched,  worn  dresses,  with  sunburned 
fac^s  and  roughened  hands,  was  to  me  the  most 
touching  sight  I  have  seen  since  the  beginning  of 
the  Avar.  What  a  mere  nothing  seemed  all  we 
could  do  compared  to  this  unselfish,  simple 
living  through  a  life  of  toil,  labor,  and  priva- 
tion, without  talking  of  sacrifice  ! 

^'How  heartless  seemed  the  dancers  that 
night,  how  stupid  the  jokes  of  the  overfed 
Senator. 

^ '  I  sat  in  the  wide  piazza,  self-condemned,  con- 
victed of  wasted  purpose,  ready  to  be  cross  with 
any  one  who  smiled,  when  there  hobbled  up  a 
wounded  captain  of  the  Louisiana  zouaves. 
Here  was  some  one  to  be  sorry  for  and  sorry 
with.  That  tone  fitted  into  the  stormy  feeling 
of  the  hour. 

' '  How  variable  is  human  nature  !  A  few  min- 
utes later  the  circle  of  listeners  had  widened 
and  w^e  were  laughing  heartily  at  the  captain's 
story  of  the  kid-gloved,  patent-leather-footed 
zouaves'  revolt  from  work  in  the  trenches  at  Pen- 
sacola  during  the  first  summer  of  the  war ;  and 


10(>  THE  MODERN  HAG  AIL 

how  Bragg  set  their  servants  to  digging  and 
'  bucked  '  them  into  respect  for  discipline.  And 
the  wind-np — '  he  spoilt  us  as  dandies,  but  he 
made  soldiers  of  us ' — brought  thought  back  to 
the  war  again.  We  are  never  permitted  to  for- 
get that  long. 

''Augusta^  Ga.^  September  20,  1863. — We  ar- 
rived here  yesterday,  the  first  stop  since  leaving 
Danville. 

"This  town  seems  an  oasis  of  rest.  I  do  not 
think  they  altogether  realize  the  constant  storm 
of  battle  in  Virginia  and  Tennessee. 

''  In  no  other  place  have  I  seen  so  many  civil- 
ians in  the  street. 

''Georgia  has  suffered  less  than  any  of  the 
other  States. 

.  ''Augusta  is  the  market  for  a  comparatively 
rich  agricultural  country.  It  is  beyond  raids 
and  has  unbroken  railroad  connection  with  the 
South  and  East ;  consequently  it  is  a  desirable 
home  for  the  families  of  the  Kentucky  soldiers 
either  with  Lee  or  Bragg,  so  Kentuckians  con- 
gregate here. 

"For  the  poorer  refugees,  like  our  friends  '  up 
the  mountain,'  it  is  a  haven  beyond  their  means, 
the  cost  of  comings  and  the  need  of  money  to 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  197 

live  on,  is  too  great.  Poverty  ties  them  to  the 
soil  of  Virginia.  But  the  Kentucky  refugees  are 
differently  placed  ;  they  are  comimratively  rich, 
and  the  increased  value  of  gold  makes  it  cheap 
to  live  here  if  you  have  a  gold  basis. 

''We  had  supper  last  evening  with  a  family 
where  we  had  all  the  luxuries  that  have  grown 
into  luxuries  since  the  war. 

''The  house,  up  on  the  sand-hills,  was  large 
and  airy.  Our  hostess  showed  us  with  pride  a 
bed-room  furnished  with  dry-goods  boxes,  show- 
ily draped  with  furniture  print— altogether  a 
pretty  imitation  of  French  hangings.  She  evi- 
dently expected  compliment  for  her  simplicity 
and  economy.  We  were  thinking  of  the  waste 
of  calico,  tlie  '  little  patch  of  cotton '  to  make 
'shirts  and  socks  for  our  soldiers,'  and  the 
faded  dresses  of  those  Virginian  gentlewomen. 

"However,  patriotism  is  not  a  synonym  for 
poverty,  and  this  lady  proved  her  sincerity  by 
being  willing  to  suffer  affliction  (meaning  dry- 
goods  boxes)  wdth  the  people  of  God  for  a  sea- 
son, provided  the  '  wind  w^as  tempered '  to  the 
thoroughbred  '  shorn  '  of  its  cashmere  fleece. 

"  Anything  is  better  than  the  apathy  of  these 
Georgians.     This  assuredly  does  not  apply  to  the 


198  THE  MODERN  JlAGAIi. 

gallant  soldiers  who  are  in  tlie  Georgia  regi- 
ments, but  to  the  ricli  substitute-buyers— and 
their  name  is  legion.  Longstreet's  corps  brought 
away  from  Virginia  when  the  need  seems  great- 
est there  ;  Breckenridge  and  his  homeless  Ken- 
tuckians  at  the  front,  stubbornly  opposing  Rose- 
crans's  advance  ;  while  here  men  sit  in  the  shade 
and  coolly  discuss  the  chance  of  defeat ! 

"  Our  host  has  just  come  in  with  despatches  : 
fighting  near  Chattanooga  ;  Bragg' s  entire  army 
engaged.  Thank  God  that  Longstreet  is  there 
with  a  corps  of  the  Virginian  army  ! 

"  September  22,  1863. — Another  telegram  brings 
news  of  victory.  Rosecrans  crushed  and  beaten 
back.  All  that  are  left  of  Longstreet's  veterans 
are  camped  on  the  ground  they  have  won.  O 
my  Virginians  !  my  Virginians  ! 

''Sehna,  Ala.,  September  24,  1863.— Tom  Clay 
is  dead  !  Poor  boy  !  he  will  come  no  more  in  the 
cool,  dewy  twilight  to  talk  of  home  and  his  far- 
away sweetheart.  How  she  will  grieve  as  the 
days  go  by  and  there  are  no  more  letters  !  The 
light  of  many  a  life  goes  out  with  'no  more  let- 
ters.' " 


CHAPTER  XXXY. 

"  The  catastrophe  is  a  nuptial." 

{Mrs,  Carishrooke  to  Mrs.  Hartley  from  Paris^ 
June  20,  1863.) 

*'  '  A  N  angel  is  like  you,  Kate,  and  you  are 
^  like  an  angel.'  You  give  good  gifts 
without  mean  or  miserly  reckoning. 
Your  letters  liave  all  come  to  me,  but  where 
mine  have  gone  only  our  meddlesome  Paul  Prys 
can  tell ;  yet  you  will  believe  that  1  have  written 
you  often  and  full  measure.  Since  the  one  sent 
from  Canada  by  that  faithful  Kentucky  courier 
none,  it  seems,  have  reached  you. 

"  But  I  have  good  hope  of  this,  and  I  shall  not 
send  it  by  way  of  Fortress  Monroe  or  to  your 
Cousin  Bradnor's  care.  One  L.  Quintius  Cur- 
tius—not  of  Rome  but  of  rebeldom  ;  one  we  both 
have  known  in  better  days,  my  dear — has  pro- 
mised it  safe  conduct.  If  he  is  but  half  so  good 
a  postal  clerk  as  he  is  diplomatist,  then  I  am 
sure  my  lady's  hand  will  touch  and  my  lady's 
eyes  will  read  these  lines. 

199 


:;>00  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

**  Yon  can  trust  Bradnor  if  you  like,  but  I  will 
none  of  liim.  Altliough  the  dandy  has  sent  me 
the  first  broken  half  of  your  letter  safely  and 
expeditiously,  I  hope  part  second  is  already  en 
route.  The  fact  of  that  letter's  arrival  proves 
it  was  never  submitted  to  official  inspection. 
Neither  Stanton  nor  any  creature  made  in  his 
likeness  would  have  passed  so  rebellious  a  docu- 
ment. 

"What  you  write  me  of  Rue  grieves  me. 
TJiat  a  daughter  of  Stanislaus  Leszinksky  and 
Margaret  Cartaret  should  suspect  our  want  of 
faith  or  friendship  denotes  a  morbid  distrust  of 
all  humankind. 

"Rue's  intensity  must  border  on  insanity,  or 
else  her  griefs  have  tmsted  her  all  awry. 

'*  Had  your  letter  come  to  me  in  time  I  would 
have  humbled  myself  in  the  dust  and  begged  a 
pass  of  Stanton.  Had  that  failed  I  think  '  Red- 
head' would  have  passed  me  through  the  lines 
at  the  cost  of  his  commission.  But  when  the 
letter  did  at  last  reach  me  we  all  thought  it  too 
late  for  me  to  go  to  *  The  Cedars,'  and  Robert's 
letter  clinched  the  thought.  If  Steenie  were  older 
and  had  lacked  faith  in  me  I  would  not  have 
been  astonished.     But  Rue?— why,   T  would  as 


THE  PANORAMA   OF  WAR.  oqi 

soon  have  supposed  Molly  could  be  suspicious 
of  tlie  constancy  of  my  affection  for  her  !  It 
lias  so  hurt  me  that  I  have  most  bunglingiy 
vv^ritten  her  a  letter  of  explanation  —  an  explana- 
tion so  ill  made  that  she  may  find  in  it  fresh 
cause  of  offence  ;  and,  in  fact,  my  experience  of 
life  proves  that  words  of  excuse  or  apology  never 
can  cement  broken  faiths  or  friendships.  There 
is  no  harder  task  than  the  dislodgment  of  suspi- 
cion. Its  admittance  beneath  the  roof  of  thought 
is  proof  of  change  in  the  host  that  harbors  it. 

"If  my  letter  fails  to  bring  Eue  to  wiser  and 
better  thinking,  I  shall  either  go  to  her  when  I 
return  home  or  send  an  ambassador.  We  cannot 
quarrel  with  'King  Stan's'  daughter  nor  permit 
her  to  believe  evil  things  of  us. 

"This  far  the  worst  of  it  is,  it  has  made  Brad- 
nor's  attention  welcome.  Such  a  thing  as  a  well- 
principled  coxcomb  may  be  possible,  but  I  do  not 
think  Captain  Hartley's  relative  is  a  specimen  I 
should  admit  as  that  possibility.  I  look  upon  it 
as  a  great  misfortune  that  he  was  Rue's  helper 
when  her  father's  sufferings  made  help  needful. 
Julia  has  told  me  the  condition  attached  to  the 
fortune  Simon  Hartley  left  the  fellow.  Of 
course  he  is  looking  for  an  heiress  with  the  re- 


2v2  THE  MODERN  HAGAIi. 

quisite  amount.  Rue's  estate  so  largely  exceeds 
the  amount  that  his  cupidity  is  doubly  on  the 
alert.  He  is  a  handsome  animal,  but,  I  confess  it, 
I  detest  him.  Not  that  I  think  his  good  looks 
would  win  Rue — I  know  her  too  well  to  believe 
that  ;  but  I  know  her  so  well  that  I  know  she 
will  never  forget  or  refuse  payment  for  the  kind- 
ness to  her  father.  My  only  trust  for  her  de- 
fence against  such  misplaced  gratitude  is  in 
'Red-head.' 

"I  think  my  beloved  and  most  charmingly 
amiable  son-in-law  would  break  the  dand^-'s 
neck  were  there  no  other  method  of  breaking 
tlie  match — which  at  last  maybe  only  'a  thing 
of  imagination  all  compact.' 

''To  get  rid  of  the  subject  I  shall  tell  you  news 
of  the  woman  the  dandy  should  marry.  She  is 
a  feminine  representative  of  the  same  species.  I 
retract  that,  and  but  for  blotting  this  letter  would 
erase  it.  Mai  Hilton  is  a  heartless  coquette,  but 
in  brains  she  is  infinitely  the  suj^eiior  of  her  dis- 
tant cousin.  (He  is  her  cousin.)  If  I  believed, 
my  fair  Katherine,  that  you  had  left  anywhere 
about  you  a  solitar^^  particle  of  esteem  or  regard 
for  the  man  whose  wife  you  are  so  ill-advised  as 
to  permit  yourself  to  be  considered,  I  would  write 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  J^03 

nothing  of  Captain  Hartley's  visit  here  to  his 
daughter  or  of  liis  acknowledgment  of  her  as  his 
daughter,  which  he  has  made. 

*' I  had  better  begin  at  the  beginning  and  tell 
you  all  I  know. 

"  I  sailed  from  New  York  in  February — not  in 
March,  as  you  supposed.  My  rebellious  neigh- 
bors who  used  to  live  near  me  on  '  the  hill '  have 
set  up  their  household  gods  here  in  Paris — mean- 
ing ill-executed  pictures  of  Lee  and  Jackson. 
They  were  constantly  writing  me  invitations  to 
visit  them  and  see  the  shrine  before  w^hich  they 
burn  waxen  candles. 

^'I  was  doing  no  particular  good  at  home.  In 
fact,  Carisbrooke  gently  hinted  that  I  was  busy 
the  other  way. 

"  I  cannot  truthfully  say  Carisbrooke  was  bru- 
tal, or  even  rude,  in  the  manner  of  his  suggestion. 
But  he  did  manage  to  let  me  understand  that  the 
admirable  frankness  and  wisdom  with  which  I 
expressed  my  opinion  of  the  conduct  of  the  war 
was  getting  to  be  a  damper  upon  the  President. 
Close  observers  noticed  that  it  was  suppressing 
his  anecdotal  lore. 

''  Even  in  the  flush  of  such  victories  as  those  of 
Banks  and  Schenck  Mr.    Lincoln  would  break 


204  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

down  in  his  second  reminiscence.  To  the  awe 
and  consternation  of  the  cabinet,  he  would  sud- 
denly stop  after  the  familiar  phrase,  'That  re- 
minds of  a  little  story,'  and  go  off  on  some  se- 
rious tack  quite  foreign  to  the  subject.  You  see 
/  was  the  serious  tack. 

"Then,  too,  Stanton's  sweet,  babe-like  sleep 
was  broken — 

'  Sore  labor's  bath  ; 
Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature's  second  course,' 

was  denied  him,  all  a-cause  of  one  woman. 

"Yet  I  do  not  know  that  these  particular  na 
tional  calamities  would  either  have  kex)t  me  si- 
lent or  forced  me  to  flee  the  country. 

"But,  like  all  great  orators,  Carisbrooke  had  re- 
served his  climax.  The  peroration  which  brought 
me  to  Paris  was  that  I  was  '  the  insurmountable 
obstacle  which  had  delayed  "Red-head's"  pro- 
motion.' 

"To  propitiate  the  'Infernal  Gods'— observe 
the  capitals  and  the  quotation-marks,  and  you 
will  know  that  I  am  classical,  not  profane— I 
undertook  this  i)ilgrimage. 

"Carisbrooke  came  with  me  to  New  York; 
from  thence  Lucy  was  my  companion  and  at  ten- 


THE  PAN0RA3IA  OF  WAR.  205 

dant,  wliicli  is  a  partial  answer  to  your  inquiry. 
She  is  perfectly  rational  now,  but  lier  health  is 
delicate  ;  these  two  conditions  made  her  coming 
with  me  advisable  and  induced  Carisbrooke  to 
give  his  consent.  Privately  she  begged  me  to 
bring  her.  She  knew  Mai  was  here,  and  pro- 
mised to  be  reasonable  and  discreet.  Trusting  to 
her  promise,  I  brought  her. 

"  Thus  far  she  has  kept  her  promise  under  pe- 
culiarly trying  circumstances. 

''We  were  both  quite  sea-sick,  so  I  rested  a 
week  in  London. 

"  Some  English  people  we  had  entertained  at 
Rosebank  made  it  very  pleasant  for  me.  You 
are  so  joined  to  your  idols  that  you  will  be  glad 
to  hear  they  were  'Southern  sympathizers.'  So 
it  happened  at  a  swell  dinner  they  gave  I  met 
most  of  the  notable  rebels  then  in  London :  the 
Masons,  of  course,  and  with  them  the  noble  envoy 
— refused  at  St.  Petersburg — who  sends  you  this. 
I  heard  that  night  a  very  pretty  compliment  to 
him  which  I  think  will  please  you. 

"A  bright  woman,  who  belongs  to  a  family 
distinguished  as  diplomats^  said,  as  L.  Quintius 
Curtius  moved  away  from  the  little  group : 
'  That  young  man  is  wonderfully  clever.     He  is 


206  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

the  brightest  diplomatist  I  have  ever  met  from 
America.  He  understands  what  the  other  men 
you  have  sent  here  have  never  learned — the  value 
of  women  as  allies,  and  that  they  have  a  certain 
social  influence  in  politics  which  is  especially  ef- 
fectual in  influencing  the  public  reception  of 
new  questions.  He  is  free  from  the  j^ettiness  of 
masculine  vanity  which  would  either  underrate 
or  be  indifferent  to  that  influence.  If  he  was  the 
senior  and  leader  of  the  commissioners  I  think 
he  would  win  the  recognition  they  ask.' 

' '  The  day  after  this  dinner  I  left  London  on 
the  tidal  train  for  Paris.  I  had  taken  a  flrst -class 
ticket  for  Luc}^,  that  I  might  have  lier  with  me. 
We  were  alone  in  the  railway  carriage,  and  the 
guard  was  about  to  lock  the  door,  when  I  heard 
some  one  say,  '  Mrs.  Carisbrooke.'  As  I  .looked 
around  our  '  envoy '  was  asking  permission  to 
enter  with  a  friend.  It  was  given  on  the  instant, 
and  as  number  one  took  the  place  opposite  to  me 
I  saw  that  number  two  was  Captain  Hartley. 
The  greeting  and  the  perfunctory  inquiries  were 
exceedingly  awkward,  for  he  had  recognized  Lucy, 
who  was  in  the  next  seat  to  mine.  Fortunately, 
the  *  envoy '  w^as  in  one  of  his  brilliantly  talka- 
tive moods,  and  I  was  only  too  willing  to  listen 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  207 

without  interruption,  except  when  it  was  needful 
to  touch  a  new  key  that  there  might  be  no  stop. 
On  the  pacliet  we  saw  nothing  of  Captain  Hart- 
ley, nor  did  we  from  Calais  to  Paris.  His  com- 
panion reported  him  in  a  smoking-carriage. 

"Thus  the  trial  of  Lucy's  'reasonable'  and 
'  discreet '  promise  was  made  before  we  reached 
Paris.  I  could  see  she  was  of  an  ashen  color  j 
further  than  that  she  gave  no  evidence  of  remem- 
brance or  recognition. 

''  I  was  so  sure  the  meeting  with  Hartley  would 
prevent  my  seeing  Mai  that  I  was  surprised  be- 
yond measure  when,  two  days  after  I  was  settled 
in  the  little  apartment  taken  for  me  by  my 
friends,  the  concierge  came  up  with  a  card: 
*  The  lady  was  waiting  in  her  carriage  to  hear  if 
I  was  disengaged  and  would  receive  her.'  The 
card  was  engTaved  '  Miss  Hartley-Hilton.' 

'^  I  bade  the  man  show  the  lady  uj). 

''The  second-sight  of  the  Scotch  wizard  is  a 
mere  nothing  to  the  clairvoyance  of  a  mother. 
Lucy  could  not  understand  what  had  been  said, 
and  she  had  not  seen  the  card  ;  but,  with  a  rapid 
glance  at  the  trembling  figure  leaning  against  the 
mantelpiece,  I  comprehended  her  look  of  expec- 
tancy. 


208  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

"  Affecting  a  confidence  I  was  far  from  feeling, 
I  bade  her  wait  in  my  room,  saying  :  '  If  you  are 
sure  of  yourself,  sure  you  will  not  come  where 
Mai  can  see  you,  you  may  leave  the  door  ajar  so 
you  can  both  see  and  hear.'  She  kissed  my 
hand  Avith  a  most  grateful  look  of  thanks,  which 
also  was  a  look  of  promise. 

' '  '  Miss  Hartley-Hilton  '  was  announced  in 
such  fashion  that  the  name  was  not  recogniza- 
ble. 

' '  My  dear  Kate !  we  all  always  thought  her 
beautiful.  Well,  the  bud  was  nothing  to  the 
flower.  All  the  visions  of  beautiful  women  that 
I  have  had,  in  and  out  of  the  flesh,  were  as  no- 
thing to  this  goddess.  How  well  the  Parisians 
have  named  her  ! 

*' She  gave  me  no  time  for  mere  perfunctory 
civilities.  A  cannon-ball  sent  by  your  famous 
young  Pelliam  could  not  have  more  plum  ply 
fallen  into  the  middle  of  things. 

''  '  My  father  told  me  that  you  were  here,  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke.  He  urged  the  fact  as  a  reason  for 
my  leaving  Paris  immediately — we  are  going  to 
Eome  for  Easter — but  the  reason  he  gave  for 
avoidance  is  the  reason  that  brought  me  here. 
The  woman  Lucy— my  mother— is  with  you  ? ' 


THE  PAN0RA3IA  OF  WAR.  209 

"  '  Yes,  she  is  with  me.' 

•'  'Why  did  she  corned  Or  rather,  why  did 
you  bring  her  %  Was  it  to  see  me,  to  make  any 
claim  npon  me  ?  Did  yon  know  that  I  was  about 
to  be  married  to  the  Due  de  Rameaux  ? ' 

"  'Yes,  I  knew  it.' 

"  '  Then  that  is  why  you  brought  her  ? ' 

''  '  Yes,  that  she  might  see  you  married.' 

*''I  know.  You  are  Mrs.  Hartley's  friend. 
You  wish  to  punish  me  for  my  father's  recogni- 
tion of  me  as  his  daughter.  That  is  why  you 
brought  the  woman,  my  mother — she  is  my  mo- 
ther ;  I  do  not  and  shall  not  deny  that  fact.  I 
came  to  ask  what  she  and  you  expect  from  me. 
What  does  she  demand  1 ' 

"'She  demands  from  you — nothing.  It  is 
what  you  have  given  her  since  you  knew  you 
had  a  mother  living.  Your  father  has  given  her 
less  and  more  :  when  her  youth  was  prematurely 
withered  and  her  beauty  had  faded  he  took  you 
from  her  and  gave  her  another  master.' 

"'Did  he  not  free  her?' 

"'Yes,  after  she  had  escaped  and  disgrace 
threatened  him.' 

"  '  He  says  that  he  believed  she  was  dead.' 
"  '  The  wish  was  father  to  the  thought.' 


210  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

"  ^  If  she  asks  nothing,  expects  nothing,  why 
is  slie  here,  and  what  interest  has  she  in  my 
marriage  ? ' 

''  'She  has  the  heart  of  a  mother,  the  devo- 
tion of  a  mother.  Neglected,  denied,  desi:)ised, 
twice  driven  to  insanity,  tlie  first  effort  of  re- 
covered reason,  the  first  question  that  frames 
itself  to  her  returning  sense,  is  for  her  child. 
She  is  content  to  live  outside  of  your  life,  but 
the  very  breath  of  life  to  her  is  assurance  of  your 
safety,  of  your  happiness.  She  only  wished  to 
look  upon  the  face  of  her  child,  to  see  the  hus- 
band into  whose  hands  her  child's  happiness  is 
to  be  trusted.  She  does  not  ask  or  wish  you  to 
look  upon  her.  She  demands  neither  love  nor 
recognition.  And  for  her  I  demand  nothing,  ex- 
cept that  at  a  safe  distance  from  your  splendor, 
in  some  retired  corner  where  her  presence  may 
not  be  noticed,  she  shall  see  you  married.  She 
is  so  single-tlioughted  in  her  devotion  to  you 
that  your  marriage  is  everything  to  her.  She 
has  been  a  slave,  but  she  is  a  loving  woman.  Her 
faults  came  from  poison  in  the  blood,  from  the 
degradation  of  one  race  and  the  sin  of  another. 
Her  first  and  only  wish  in  life  is  to  see  her  daugh- 
ter lifted  above  danger  of  temptation.      To  her 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  211 

your  marriage  seems  a  very  ark  of  safety.  Now 
yon  know  her  demands.  I  can  assure  you  that  in 
no  way  will  slie  conijiromise  your  future.  In  my 
household  she  is  loved  and  respected.  Her  home 
is  with  us.  In  the  last  interview  she  had  with 
you,  the  last  she  ever  will  have,  she  mutely  pro- 
mised to  make  no  claim  to  any  place  in  your  life 
or  your  affection.  She  has  kept  and  she  will 
keep  the  promise.  But  when  I  see  her  in  pain 
through  the  yearning  desire  of  a  mother  to  look 
upon  the  child  she  carried  next  her  heart,  I  will 
bring  her  where,  unknown  to  your  world,  she 
may  look  upon  your  face.' 

''  ^  Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  do  you  think  I  do  not  pity 
her?  Ah!  you  do  not  know  that  through  this 
marriage  I  repa}^  Captain  Hartley  what  she  has 
suffered.  Because  of  this  alliance,  which  reflects 
a  certain  distinction  ui)on  the  son  of  a  petty 
tradesman,  heir  of  Simon  Hartley  the  miser, 
Cai^tain  Hartley  has  given  me  the  right  to  bear 
his  name  and  will  pay  the  dot  a  ducal  house 
requires.  I  assure  you  it  is  no  slight  sacrifice  he 
makes.  He  has  liad  losses  in  the  last  few  years, 
and  I  have  never  measured  or  restricted  my  ex- 
penditures since  I  knew  vv'hat  debt  I  owed  him 
through  my  mother.     Ah  !  madame,  he  has  paid 


212  TEE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

dearly  for  wliat  I  learned  at  Rosebank.  And 
now  it  takes  the  greater  jmrt  of  liis  fortune  to 
balance  my  tainted  blood  against  the  honors,  and 
dignities,  and  virtues  of  the  Due  de  Rameaux.' 

"  I  can  tell  you  the  words,  Kate,  but  I  cannot 
show  you  the  scorn  that  flashed  from  the  beauti- 
ful violet  eyes.  I  had  heard  a  noise  from  my 
bed-room  and  I  was  anxious  to  end  the  inter- 
view.    Miss  Hartley-Hilton  ended  it  by  saying : 

*'  ^  If  your  friend  Mrs.  Hartley — she  was  always 
kind  to  me,  and  I  am  grateful — wishes,  she  can 
easily  prove  the  story  false  which  Captain  Hart- 
ley told  at  the  legation  here  when  the  marriage 
settlements  were  dra^ATi.  He  said  that  he  had 
been  secretly  married  to  my  mother,  who  died  at 
my  birth.  The  Hue  de  Rameaux  has  heard  the 
truth  ;  I  told  it  to  him.  He  knows  the  stain  and 
accepts  it  mtli  me — and  a  dot.  I  will  send  you 
cards  for  yourself  and  your  friend  to  see  me 
married.     Good- morning.'     And  she  was  gone. 

*'She  has  Hartley  eyes,  but  she  has  the  daring 
courage  of  her  gmndfather,  the  gambler.  She 
plays  her  stakes  as  recklessly  and  is  willing  to 
stand  the  hazard  of  the  die.  When  she  left  me  I 
was  in  doubt  whicli  most  to  applaud,  her  beauty 
and  grace  or  her  rash>  determined  spirit.     But 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  213 

for  all  that  I  thanked  the  gods  no  one  I  loved 
was  in  the  position  of  the  Due  de  Rameaux. 

*'  The  next  day  I  heard  that  Mrs.  Cartaret  and 
the  Hartleys  had  gone  to  Rome.  The  Due  de 
E-ameaux  followed  them. 

*'The  week  after  Easter  I  received  cards  (one 
left  blank)  for  the  marriage  ceremony,  which  was 
to  be  celebrated  at  the  American  Chapel.  I  took 
Lucy  to  a  quiet  corner  in  the  gallery.  Kneeling 
there,  she  watched  her  child.  The  tears  that  fell 
from  those  soft,  brooding  eyes,  and  which  rolled 
unheeded  over  the  thin,  wasted  face,  mutely 
pleaded  for  forgiveness  of  her  sin  and  for  the 
happiness  of  her  child.  That  sad  look  of  appre- 
hension which  used  to  be  ever  present  in  her 
countenance  has  gone.  The  long-drawn  sighs 
that  come  at  regular  intervals  from  the  quiet  cor- 
ner in  which  she  chooses  to  work  are  all  that  tell 
of  past  griefs. 

"  The  morning  after  the  marriage  the  Due  and 
Duchesse  de  Rameaux  left  for  their  chateau  in 
Touraine. 

''Next  week  we  go  to  Switzerland  mth  our 
friends,  and  later  to  the  English  lakes.  I  will 
write  you  again  when  we  get  to  London,  where  I 
hope  to  find  letters  from  you. ' ' 


214  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

{Mrs.  Hartley  to  Mrs.  Carishrooke  from  the 
'plantation  near  Selma,  October  7,  1863.) 

**My  dear  Mrs.  Carisbrooke:  At  last  a  let- 
ter from  you.  It  followed  me  from  Richmond, 
passed  me  en  route,  went  on  to  Mobile,  and 
yesterday  your  brother  Robert  brought  it  back 
here. 

"Thanks  for  your  compliance  with  my  wish. 
This  despatch  of  yours  is  a  news-letter.  But  in 
one  way  it  will  not  have  the  effect  you  antici- 
pate. 

"I  will  never  carry  my  troubles  into  a  divorce 
court.  And  if  Captain  Hartley  wishes  to  I  do 
not  think  he  can  find  cause  for  divorce.  The 
bonds  of  relationshij)  often  grow  painful,  but 
we  do  not  break  them  for  that.  We  simply 
endure  such  ills  as  we  best  may.  If  I  Avere  dying 
of  a  cancer  I  should  not  tear  away  the  coverings 
to  show  it  to  all  the  world.  I  shall  certainly 
never  uncover  to  the  multitude  my  private  grief. 
I  knew  what  your  letter  meant,  for  I  have  heard 
you  talk  all  this  at  me — never  unkindly,  but 
because  of  the  loving- kindness  of  your  motive 
it  has  always  touched  me  nearly.  Now  I  beg  as 
a  favor  that  it  may  rest,  silenced  by  your  regards 
for  my — call  them,  if  you  like — prejudices. 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  215 

^'I  am  glad  Mai  was  recognized  by  her  father. 
It  is  the  most  manly  and  human  thing  I  have 
ever  known  of  him.  I  could  not  make  that  a 
cause  of  quarrel,  had  I  wanted  one. 

''I  am  sincerely  glad  of  Lucy's  improvement. 
She  has  been  a  sore  spot  in  my  conscience  for 
years.  If  there  is  ever  anything  that  I  may  be 
permitted  to  do  for  her,  the  doing  it  will  be  a 
pleasure  and  a  favor  to  me.  Had  I  been  gentler 
in  speech  and  temper  that  first  summer  of  my 
stay  at  Oakhill,  if  anger  had  not  blinded  all 
sense  of  justice,  that  poor  mother's  life  might 
not  have  been  altogether  one  of  suffering. 

"It  is  difficult  for  Sarah  to  pity  Hagar,  to 
think  of  her  as  a  victim. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  of  Mai's  good-fortune— if 
it  is  good-fortune.  What  do  you  know  or  hear 
of  the  man  she  has  married  ? 

"I  have  news  to  tell  that  you  will  be  sorry  to 
hear.  With  your  letter  yesterday  Mr.  Robert 
Carisbrooke  brought  me  others.  One  was  from 
Eue  and  one  from  Colonel  Bradnor.  Each  an- 
nounced their  engagement  to  the  other,  and  both 
the  letters  were  short,  stiff,  and  ceremonious. 

"  O  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  !  what  can  we  do  i  I  am 
sure  tliere  will  be  no  love  in  this  marriage.     I 


216  THE  MODERN  EA  GAR. 

pray  something  may  happen  to  break  it.  Surely, 
surely  Stanislaus  Leszinksky's  daughter  will  be 
saved  from  such  misery  ! 

"The  only  loophole  of  escape  that  I  see  is  that 
it  is  to  be  a  long  engagement.  They  are  '  not  to 
be  married  until  Steenie  comes  of  age.'  Thank 
Heaven  for  that ! 

"  General  Roane  and  two  of  his  staff  have  just 
arrived.  They  are  on  their  way  to  the  trans- Mis- 
sissippi department.  General  Koane  is  to  join 
Sterling  Price.  We  will  not  see  him  again  until 
the  war  ends.  And  as  yet  who  can  prophesy 
when  that  will  be  1 

"But  I  must  say  good-by.  General  Roane 
will  take  this  and  the  longer  letter  which  I  have 
kept  waiting  opportunity,  and  send  them  through 
Memphis.  He  tells  me  his  old  friend  General 
Forrest  has  a  safe  private  mail  route  through 
the  city.  Always  yours, 

"Kate." 

{3Irs.  Carisbrooke  to  Mrs.  Hartley  from  Eose- 
hank,  April  3,  1864.) 

"My  dear  Kate  :  General  Forrest's  mail  route 
was  safe  but  very  slow.  I  do  not  know  how  he 
managed  it,  but  the  letter  came  to  Cincinnat'  by 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  217 

private  hands  just  after  Forrest's  iiglit  at  Oka- 
lona,  where,  in  the  classic  language  of  0U7'  great 
leader  of  a  'movable  column,'  'half  our  cavalry 
went  to  h —  and  half  to  Memphis.' 

"But  I  dare  not  say  another  such  word.  I 
have  i:>romised  Carson — who  is  now  here  for  a 
day,  and  who  says  he  will  see  this  sent  to  you  by 
a  quicker  post  than  yours — to  give  no  news  that 
can  in  any  way  be  construed  as  military  informa- 
tion. And  even  that  pious  hint  as  to  the  direc- 
tion taken  hy  the  Federal  cavalry  might  give  '  aid 
and  comfort  to  the  enemy,'  which  means  you^ 
my  dear.  Being  thus  basely  restricted  in  my 
endeavor  to  write  history,  I  will  tell  jou  all  the 
scandal  I  know.  (If  it  was  not  for  the  military 
restriction  I  could  tell  things  that  would  '  mur- 
der sleep '  and  make  a  '  fretful  porcupine '  of 
you.  What  a  pity  I  am  bound  to  silence  !)  Not 
being  free  to  tell  military  news  (or  scandal),  I 
shall  go  out  of  the  country  for  my  items. 

"Rue  answered  my  'explanation,'  but  in  a 
very  high  and  mighty  way,  which  was  not  en- 
couraging to  fresh  epistolary  effort.  Being  a 
resolute,  persistent  woman.  I  would  not  give  it 
up.  Two  weeks  after  I  returned  from  abroad, 
which  was  in  January,  I  faced  the  arctic  tempe- 


218  THE  MODERN  EAOAB, 

rature  of  Montreal  to  see  her  majesty.  But  her 
royal  courtesy  was  as  cold  as  the  climate.  Not 
being  amiable  beyond  measure,  I  made  one  or  two 
observations  that  had  probably  better  have  been 
left  unsaid.  I  had  heard  through  Mrs.  Cartaret 
of  the  Bradnor  engagement,  and  I  was  witless 
enough  to  characterize  him  as  a  fool  and  a  for- 
tune-hunter, which  was  in  no  sense  wise  in  me. 
Eue  is  not  altogether  above  the  womanly  Aveak- 
ness  of  counting  on  her  own  attractions,  and  lier 
craze  is  devotion  where  she  is,  or  feels  she  ought 
to  be,  attached. 

^'Thus  at  double  points  I  angered  her,  and  the 
longer  I  kept  at  it  the  less  I  bettered  it.  The 
upshot  was,  I  started  home  the  next  day  with  a 
very  positive  impression  that  things  Avere  as 
badly  muddled  and  as  much  out  of  joint  as  I 
could  get  them.  Then  Molly  wTote  Rue  a  most 
peace-provoking  letter.  She  had  the  grace  to 
answer  Molly's  civilly.  'Red-head'  and  Molly 
are  going  to  Montreal  as  soon  as  'Red-head' 
can  be  spared — but  this  touches  the  forbidden. 
'  Red-head  '  is  the  very  cream  and  color  of  mili- 
tary intelligence. 

"Before  I  am  wrecked  let  me  try  another  tack. 

"Molly  has  a  daughter,  born  in  the  blustering 


THE  PAXORAjIA  OF  WAR.  219 

month  of  March.  And  her  name  is  Margaret 
Leszinksky,  at  Avhich  I  am  pleased,  although  it 
is  a  decided  snub  to  my  lovely  name,  of.  which  I 
am  daily  growing  more  enamored,  as  Virginia — 
there  I  go  again  !     That  tack  was  a  failure. 

"This  time  I  shall  get  out  of  the  country,  and 
keep  out. 

"The  beautiful  young  Duchesse  de  Rameaux 
has  not  only  been  duly  j)resented  to  the  imperial 
majesties,  but  she  has  a  place  at  court.  That  far 
all  sounds  like  joyful-ringing  marriage-bells,  but 
sinister  undertones  come  over  the  sea.  The  due 
lost  heavily  last  summer  on  the  turf,  and  bac- 
carat did  not  lighten  his  losses.  Neitlier  did 
a  certain  actress  who  wears  ducal  diamonds. 
Kumor  says  the  dot  which  the  duchesse  brought 
him  has  been  squandered,  and  that  his  generous 
and  amiable  father-in-law  w^as  *  done '  in  the 
transaction.  The  estates  upon  which  old  Simon 
Hartley's  dollars  were  supposed  to  be  secured 
have  already  upon  them  two  generations  of 
mortgages. 

"It  seems  the  only  person  this  disturbs  is 
Captain  Hartley.  The  young  duchesse  neither 
moans  nor  retrenches.  Her  wardrobe  is  the 
glory  of   Worth  and  the  marvel  and  the  admi- 


220  TEE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

ration  of  Paris.  Some  one  is  pinched  !  Caris- 
brooke  heard  accidentally  that  Hartley  had  tele- 
graphed to  order  the  sale  of  certain  stock  ;  and 
when  his  broker  delayed,  and  exj^lained  that  it 
would  be  a  great  loss,  the  order  was  made  per- 
emptory. The  old  miser's  millions  are  sliding 
the  way  millions  are  said  to  do  when  the  majesty 
from  the  bottomless  pit  has  gathered  them. 

' '  The  mills  go  on  grinding  slowly.  Hartley 
may  be  ruined  through  his  love  for  Lucy's 
daughter.  I  would  not  have  believed  his  affec- 
tion would  ever  have  led  him  to  self-sacrifice. 

"  Sometimes,  when  I  remember  what  Mai  said 
to  me  of  the  price  her  mamage  would  cost  her 
father,  I  fancy  she  intended  his  ruin.  She  said 
she  would  'repay  her  mother's  debt.' 

"  Larry  Hoyt's  settlement  of  such  a  debt,  had 
he  promised  settlement,  would  have  been  quick 
and  sure,  but  frankly  and  openly  risked.  I  fear 
the  gambler's  blood  has  been  corrupted  by  the 
Hartley  strain  ;  or  it  may  be  the  outcome  of 
some  Youdoo  witch  who  worked  her  evil  will 
through  hidden  and  deadly  mysteries  ages  ago 
where  the  Nile  sjiring  bubbles  into  life. 

''  What  a  puzzling  psychological  study  can  be 
drawn  out  of  a  blood-puddle  ! 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  221 

^'If  I  were  a  psychomancist,  to  define  tlie 
beautiful  duchesse  I  would  call  up  the  Youdoo 
witch.  I  am  sure  the  witch  is  in  the  majority. 
She  counts  for  more  than  the  gambler. 

' '  The  Hartley  part  goes  for  naught.  It  is 
only  dirt.  But  then  that  conclusion  sets  one  off 
on  a  new  search.  Julia  has  loyal  and  true  and 
honest  qualities.  Pshaw  !  Julia  is  the  reproduc- 
tion of  some  remote  accident.  Like  Mai,  she  is 
the  mystic  product  of  past  ages. 

"  There  must  be  a  subtle,  transmissible  essence 
in  blood  that,  under  certain  conjunctions,  is  pro- 
creative  of  qualities.  Why  else  should  it  flow 
smoothly  for  generations  and  then  suddenly  de- 
velop a  new  species  ? 

"Here  are  three  examples  ready  for  your 
study  : 

''  No.  1.  EuE — Homerically  Tieroic^  princely 
in  faults — an  evident  sMp  from  the  middle 
ages. 

''No.  2.  Julia — A  reproduction  of  germs  of 
intelligence  and  feeling  wTiicli  were  buried  in 
the  dArt  heneatJi  the  Hartley  animalism. 

''No.  3.  Mai — A  goddess.  Evolved  from  a 
witch,  has  she  a  human  soul? 

"If  your  head  aches  with  the  reading,  what 


THE  MODE  UN  HAG  AH. 

do  you  suppose  I  have  suffered  while  giving 
birth  to  these  children  of  an  addled  brain  ? 

"April  as  it  is,  we  still  have  lires.  Lucy  is 
sitting  close  beside  mine,  mending  Carisbrooke' s 
favorite  coat. 

"  I  would  wager  she  is  thinking  of  her  daugh- 
ter ;  what  a  true,  womanly  poor  woman  she 
is !  It  is  the  fact,  not  the  grandeur,  of  her 
daughter's  marriage  that  touches  her.  Lucy 
must  have  had  some  blind,  indefinable  fear  that 
Mai's  fate  might  resemble  her  own.  Release 
from  that  fear  has  brought  her  peace.  Some- 
times at  her  work — which  she  seems  to  hold  to 
as  a  safeguard  to  reason — I  liear  her  softly 
singing  that  sweet  old  hymn,  '  Abide  with  me.' 
I  remember  it  was  a  favorite  with  Margaret  Les- 
zinksky. 

' '  I  know  now  where  the  duchesse  got  that 
wonderful  musical  intuition  and  clear,  bird-like 
voice. 

"  I  think  Lucy  entirely  cured  ;  but  Carisbrooke 
looks  grave  when  I  ask  his  opinion,  and  then 
hopes  that  '  no  sudden  shock  will  disturb  tlie 
balance.' 

"  If  there  is  bad  news  from  Mai  I  must  keep  it 
from  Lucy.     And  that  will  be  difficult.     She  is 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  223 

greatly  changed  from  tlie  old  apathetic  manner. 
She  is  acutely  sensitive  to  mention  of  Mai— sen- 
sitive and  watchful.  I  think  she  catches  and 
understands  every  allusion  that  is  made.  She  is 
still  devoted  to  Molly,  and  even  more  devoted 
to  Molly's  children,  but  she  has  lost  the  old  in- 
sane belief  in  her  ownership  of  all  children  who 
are  ill. 

''I  know  now  where  she  spent  the  long  months 
when  she  left  us.  She  was  in  the  country  near 
New  York  with  the  O'Dowds,  occasionally  go- 
ing to  Philadelphia— watching  the  house  where 
her  child  lived  for  a  chance  view  of  her  lost 
treasure.  That  was  why  she  saved  money.  Now 
that  her  natural  characteristics  appear,  she  is  the 
most  generous  person  I  have  ever  known.  The 
little  income  your  cousin  Margaret  settled  upon 
her,  and  all  her  earnings,  are  given  to  the  poor. 
Her  services  are  free  to  all  she  can  aid  with  ser- 
vice. She  was  constantly  sitting  up  with  poor 
invalids  here  on  the  hill  and  in  the  city,  until 
Carisbrooke  insisted  that  she  should  not  do  so 
without  his  permission.  And  now  she  impor- 
tunes him  until  he  is  sometimes  worried  into 
consent. 

''  I  have  told  all  the  news  except  that  which  is 


224  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

'  contraband '  ;    and  of   course   the  forbidden  is 
what  I  most  want  to  say. 

*'  But  you  can  write  full  letters.  And  I  tnist 
in  yon  to  hear  from  our — from  the  unrepentant 
rebels." 


CHAPTER  XXXYL 

*'  Fierce  and  clear  is  the  scabbard's  ring, 
With  the  sharp  sword  for  guest ; 
But  the  whirl  of  the  dowuAvard  swing 
Of  that  blue  blade  is  best. 

"  And  the  tramp  of  a  thousand  steeds 
In  thunder  and  cloud, 
When  the  earth  is  shaken  and  bleeds, 
Maketh  a  man's  heart  proud — 

"  More  proud  than  words  ever  said 
Or  songs  ever  sung ! 
And  proudest  the  hearts,  ferer-fed, 
Of  the  brave  and  the  young." 

{Mrs.  Hartley  to  Mrs.  CarishrooJce  from  Mo- 
Mle,  February,  1865.) 

MY  DEAR  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  :  ISTo  letters 
from  you  since  one  written  last  April 
which  General  Carson  sent  through  by  an 
officer  who  was  exchanged.  I  wrote  you  in  May 
and  sent  the  letter  to  Memphis.-  I  fear  you  did 
not  get  it.  But  I  am  writing  this  in  broken  bits 
and  will  send  it  when  occasion  favors  me.  Mrs. 
Eobert  Carisbrooke  has  gone  to  Selma,  or  rather 
to  the  plantation,  and  I  am  staying  with  my  old 


22 G  THE  MODERN  II AGAR. 

friend  and  schoolmate,  Sue  Burton,  ayIio  married 
a  classmate  of  Dr.  Carisbrooke's.  I  am  perfect- 
ly at  home  in  this  hosj^itable  house,  and  delight- 
ed to  escai^e  our  chilly,  rainy  Virginia  spring. 

"  February  10.— What  a  day  and  what  a  cli- 
mate ! 

**  *  Soft  o'er  beds  of  violets  zephyr  steals.' 

I  have  sat  at  my  work  all  the  morning  with 
windows  and  doors  wide  open. 

"  This  afternoon  numberless  callers  and  inter- 
ruptions. At  six  a  drive  down  the  bay  with 
three  Mobile  ladies. 

"We  looked  across  the  water  to  where  the 
Yankee  ships  were  anchored,  while  listening  to  a 
story  that  proved  the  value  of  a  bad  reputation. 
A  short  time  since  a  party  of  Yankees  from  a 
gunboat  landed  at  a  plantation  at  the  very  time 
the  mistress  (who  resides  in  Mobile  on  account  of 
their  proximity)  was  at  home  getting  supplies 
to  take  back  to  the  city.  She  resisted  as  far  as 
words  would  go ;  they  insisted  without  words ; 
and  the  transfer  of  edibles  from  her  wagon  to 
their  boat  was  quickly  made.  Having  no- 
thing left  but  temper,  she  threw  it  at  them  in. 
taunts : 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR,  227 

<<  <  Why  do  you  not  fight  our  men  ?  Come  to 
Mobile  and  take  the  city.  You  have  been  three 
years  anchored  in  the  bay,  and  this  is  your  first 
conquest. ' 

^'^Yes,  madam,'  said  the  blue-coat  very 
gravely.  '  You  are  perfectly  right  in  your  reck- 
oning of  time  ;  could  not  have  done  it  better 
myself— just  three  years  and  some  days  over. 
All  that  time  Mobile  has  been  full  of  gold-laced 
rebels  [a  different  breed  from  the  ragged  Virgin- 
ians], and  it  has  been  the  principal  business  of 
you  ladies  utterly  to  spoil  them  as  soldiers.  It 
js  a  notorious  fact  that  the  rebel  government  is 
constantly  forced  to  change  the  troops  there,  but 
they  can't  do  it  fast  enough  to  keep  up  the  ono- 
rale.  When  they  go  back  Bragg  swears,  and 
Lee  puts  them  in  front  of  the  Stonewall  brigade 
with  bayonet  points  in  their  suspender-crossings. 
Yes,  madam,  you  are  right:  over  three  years 
have  passed,  and  we  would  rather  not  have  Mo- 
bile.    Keep  your  Cai^ua.' 

"We  all  laugh  rather  ruefully,  and  fear  there 
is  a  little  justice  in  this  hit. 

''  Going  liome,  we  stopped  at  Colonel  Forsyth's 
to  ask  the  news  from  Virginia.  News  of  the  sad- 
dest—Lee  begging  for  recruits  and  provisions  ; 


228  THE  2I0DERN  HAGAR. 

none  and  nothing  to  send  him.    To-morrow  night 
a  meeting  here  to  try  what  can  be  done. 

''  March,  1865. — I  don't  believe  Mobile  can  help 
being  gay  and  bright,  no  matter  what  current  of 
grief  sweeps  through  the  national  life.  This  is 
partly  climatic.  With  such  air,  pure,  soft,  vio- 
let-odored,  life  brightens  into  happy  bits.  Naples 
laughs  though  Vesuvius  threatens.  And  Mobile 
is  a  lesser  Naples,  lazzaroni  and  all.  If  you  doubt 
it  come  and  go  down  to  the  shore  and  count  the 
turbaned  heads  that  sleep  in  the  sun  as  they 
wait  for  those  lazy  fishermen 

'* '  Who  rock  in  their  boats  on  the  bay.* 

"There  is  surely  a  Congress  of  Beauty  in  Mo- 
bile this  winter :  Mobilians  of  every  type,  some 
fair  as  Helen  and  as — s-t-o-p  i-t;  no  scandal,  if 
you  please  ;  others  (than  Helen)  sweet,  pure,  and 
grandly  beautiful ;  brunettes  that  outfiash  Mo- 
hammed's houris  ;  blondes  fit  to  wait  on  the  he- 
roes in  Valhalla ;  some  w^ho  would  match  your 
Parisian  *  goddess.'  I  will  not  write  names,  but  I 
will  say  that  this  winter  I  lived  in  the  house  with 
AjDhrodite — not  that  no-saint  w^ho  floated  out  of 
the  sea-foam,  but  a  product  of  Kentucky.  Even 
*Macaria'  raved  of  her  benvity  in  five-syllabled 


TEE  PAN0RA3IA  OF  WAR.  229 

dithyrambics.  Under  tlie  rose  I  would  say  that 
Aphrodite  is  not  a  wise  goddess — but  then  a  wo- 
man so  magnificently  beautiful  does  enough  for 
her  race  when  she  lets  them  look  at  her. 

"  April  8,  1865. — There  are  the  most  unexpect- 
ed rencontres  here.  Society  seems  a  magician's 
table,  where  you  do  not  know  what  may  chance 
next.  You  have  an  engagement  to  ride  in  the 
morning  with  a  friend  ;  he  comes  with  '  Care  on 
the  crupper '  to  make  his  excuses — he  is  going  to 
the  front  with  despatches.  You  are  to  dine  with 
another  ;  a  messenger  comes  to  say  the  family 
have  gone  to  the  plantation,  for  a  Yankee  raid 
has  just  swept  through  and  they  must  know  how 
the  children,  left  with  servants,  have  fared.  You 
are  invited  to  a  quiet  tea  with  a  third  ;  six  to  one 
you  go  in  your  second-best  dress  (you  only  have 
two)  and  meet  all  the  people  of  your  circle  in 
their  uniform  and  w^ ell-worn  evening  costume. 

'' Yesterday  the  ladies  of  the  household  were 

in  the  parlor  receiving  Albert   G and    his 

bride  (people  still  give  and  are  given  in  marriage, 
though  the  wedding  march  is  thrilled  through 
with  cannon-shot),  when  Colonel  Shirley,  my  old 
neighbor  at  Belleview,  was  announced — in  town 
for  the  day,   on  his  way  to   Price's   command, 


230  THE  MODERX  IIAGAR. 

which  confronts  Banks  on  the  Red  River.  An- 
other ring  at  the  door :  Judge  W ,  of  Mem- 
phis, whom  the  fate  of  war  has  brought  here. 
His  oldest  son  was  killed  in  the  first  year  of  the 
war ;  the  youngest,  a  mere  lad,  has  taken  his 
dead  brother's  place.  Destiny's  kaleidoscope 
shakes  father  and  son  together  in  our  drawing- 
room. 

''  Society  has  quieted  into  a  daily  expectancy; 
there  is  no  possibility  of  settling  to  anything. 
We  can  only  wait.  What  feasts  are  made  are  to 
feed  hungry  soldiers,  though  there  are  shadowy 
spectres  at  every  banquet  '  that  push  us  from 
our  stools.' 

'^  To-day  there  is  constant  fighting  over  the 
bay  at  Blakely  and  Spanish  Fort.  General  Lid- 
dell  is  in  command  at  Blakely  ;  with  him  the 
brave  remnant  of  d,  Missouri  brigade  just  ex- 
changed from  a  Yankee  prison  in  time  to  tight  in 
this  hox)eless  defence. 

^'Mobile's  mothers'  darlings  are  there,  too, 
playing  soldier  in  earnest :  nine  hundred  of  the 
Mobile  cadets,  boys  from  fourteen  to  seventeen— 
'  old  enough,'  as  their  boy  leader  said,  '  to  die 
for  the  country'  !  There,  too,  are  the  Home 
Guard — men  from  fortv-live  to  sixtv-five. 


THE  PAN0RA3IA  OF  WAR.  231 

^'  At  Spanish  Fort,  Gibson,  with  eight  hundred 
men  and  the  Washington  artillery,  resists  tlie 
pressure  of  Canby's  column,  which  is  seventy- 
five  tliousand  strong  and  has  thirty-six  batteries 
in  place  and  three  gunboats  in  tlie  offing.  Ther- 
moi)yl8e  had  not  greater  odds  ! 

''This  unrest  drives  to  extremes,  so  Mrs.  Bene 
diet  and  I  have  volunteered  to  go  to-night  with 
the  hospital-boat  which  takes  supplies  and  brings 
back  the  wounded. 

'''April  9. — At  nine  o'clock  last  night  we  left 
the  wharf — three  gentlemen,  two  ladies,  and  the 
ship's  crew.  At  ten  we  reached  Blakely.  There 
we  landed  supplies  ;  then  our  shadowy  ship  crei)t 
silently  down  the  river  past  the  enemy's  batte- 
ries, landing  without  accident  under  the  guns  of 
Spanish  Fort. 

"Then  came  the  danger.  The  Federals  were 
making  a  night  attack.  Shrieking  shells  burst 
above  us  into  shattered  lights,  hot  shot  cross- 
ed the  sky  like  blazing  meteors  —  from  every 
point  of  the  compass  there  speeded  lightning- 
flashes  of  flame.  From  the  batteries  around 
those  doomed  earthworks,  and  from  down  the 
bay  where  the  sullen  gunboats  belched  forth  fire 
and  shot,  there  were  sheets  of  light.     The  enemy 


232  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

had  caught  sight  of  our  sails  and  through  the 
cordage  their  balls  came  thick  and  fast. 

*^A11  this  time  men  were  busy  bringing  the 
wounded  on  board  and  taking  provisions  ashore. 

"Their  sharpshooters  got  our  range,  and  now 
to  all  that  infernal  clatter  was  added  the  quick, 
rain-like  pattering  of  minie- bullets  on  the  deck. 
Men  were  killed  bringing  on  the  wounded ; 
wounded  men  were  killed  as  they  were  brought 
aboard. 

'^Another  danger  was  added — General  Gibson 
had  decided  to  evacuate  the  place.  For  weeks 
they  had  held  it  through  a  constant  storm  of 
battle.  These  worn-out  men  could  do  no  more  ; 
but  the  ammunition,  so  scarce  and  so  precious, 
must  be  saved,  so  it  was  piled  on  the  deck  be- 
tween rows  of  wounded  men.  Let  one  shot  strike 
there  and  the  ship  and  its  living  freight  must  go 
down.     But — 

•'  *  Stormed  at  by  shot  and  shell, 


Out  of  the  gates  of  death. 
Out  of  the  mouth  of  hell  ' 


we  safely  passed  the  river-batteries. 

"At  Blakely  we  stopped  and  gathered  fresh 
swaths  of  the  battle  haryest— more  wounded  and 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  WAR.  233 

one  dead  boy.     Men  were  buried  where  they  fell, 
but  tlie  boy  must  be  sent  to  Ms  waiting  mother. 

"We  landed  at  Mobile  in  the  bright  April 
morning,  and  there  on  the  wharf  the  mothers  of 
the  cadets  were  waiting  for  news.  They  all 
pressed  forward  as  the  corpse  was  brought  off,  to 
see  whose  was  the  loss.  Only  fifteen  years  old, 
shot  through  the  forehead,  the  blue  eyes  open, 
and  the  yellow  hair  dabbled  in  blood !  The  only 
son  of  a  poor  Scotch  widow— that  'fair-haired 
laddie.'  His  father  was  killed  at  Vicksburg. 
The  mother's  soul  seemed  to  go  from  her  in  a 
low,  sad  wail  as  she  clasped  her  dead  boy  in  her 
arms. 

**In  the  afternoon  the  silence  across  the  bay 
told  us  that  Blakely  was  taken.  A  boat  brought 
over  the  few  who  escaped,  and  the  story  was  told 
how  men  were  shot  down  after  the  surrender. 
Then,  too,  we  heard  how,  in  the  moment  of  a 
successful  escape,  Cockerell  was  told  how  his 
men  were  being  murdered,  and  from  the  gun- 
boat which  he  had  reached  in  safety  he  swam 
back  to  stox^  the  massacre  or  share  the  fate  of 
his  comrades. 

' '  I  have  tried  to  picture  this  semi-military  life, 
its  joys,  its  sorrows  ;  how  it  laughed  in  the  sun- 


234  THE  MUDEUN  llAGAR, 

shine,  how  the  storm  broke  it  to  fragments. 
And  yet,  unless  you  had  lived  through  it  all, 
you  would  not  know  what  treasure  lies  buried 
beneath  its  ruins. 

"April  13. — Yesterday  Mobile  surrendered  to 
the  foe.  They  tell  us  Lee  has  surrendered.  I  do 
not  believe  them.  The  British  consul  promised 
to  send  you  this  letter.  When  I  can  I  shall  go 
to  Virginia.  To  think  what  we  have  all  suffered 
in  vain  ! '- 


BOOK    THIED. 


PART    SECOISTD. 


a 


IPSO  JURE." 


"  For  J  fell  ijou  the  great  baize  ivill  soon  fall  down.  Have  I 
had  amj  secrets  from  you  all  through  the  piece  ?  I  tell  you  the 
house  vrill  he  empty  and  you  will  he  in  (he  cold  air.  When  the 
boxes  have  got  their  nightgoivns  on,  and  you  are  all  gone,  and  I 
have  turned  of  the  gas  and  am  in  the  empty  theatre  alone  in 
tlie  darkness,  i  promise  you  I  shall  not  he  werrT/."— Thackeray. 


CHAPTEH  XXXYIT. 

"  We  for  the  year  to  come  may  take 
Our  temper  from  to-dar." 

JUDGE  CARTARET'S  management  of  ''the 
great  Cartaret  estate"  during  Margaret's 
minority  ;  his  judicious  investment  of  its 
yearly  revenues  in  lands  in  and  near  Chicago 
and  St.  Louis,  followed  as  it  was  by  Rues  long 
minority  ;  and  Mr.  Robert  Carisbrooke's  prudent 
improvement  of  these  lots  and  lands,  had  more 


236  THE  iMODERN  HAOAR, 

than  quadrupled  tlie  sum  total  before  tlie  be- 
ginning of  the  civil  war. 

Bradnor,  who  was  disposed  to  watch  his  in- 
terests carefully,  had  gone  directly  to  "The  Ce- 
dars" as  soon  as  the  Federal  forces  invested 
Richmond.  Although  he  had  resigned  his  com- 
mand at  the  time  of  his  engagement  to  Rue,  he 
had  sufficient  interest  at  headquarters  to  get  a 
guard  detailed  f lom  the  brigade  to  which  he  had 
belonged,  and  consequently  the  only  loss  the 
estate  had  suffered  was  in  its  available  work- 
ing force ;  outside  of  the  lands  surrounding  the 
house  the  plantation  was  an  immense  pasture- 
field. 

Late  in  the  fall  of  1865  Rue  and  Steenie  re- 
turned from  Canada.  All  of  the  "Mason  ne- 
groes" except  Solomon — who  was  rapidly  laying 
the  foundation  for  his  later  rise  to  political  im- 
portance in  North  Carolina— and  several  families 
of  the  Cartaret  people  were  at  "The  Cedars" 
when  the  sisters  returned. 

According  to  the  provision  of  her  gi-andfather's 
will,  Rue,  having  attained  her  majority,  was 
given  full  control  of  the  income  of  her  es- 
tate, although  the  landed  capital  was  yet  in  the 
hands  of  her  trustees,  one  being  Mr.  Robert  Ca- 


''IPSO  JURE."  237 

risbrooke,  and  tlie  other  General  Carson,  who  was 
also  Steenie's  guardian. 

The  hospitality  of  "The  Cedars''  was  as  un- 
restricted as  in  the  old  days.  The  Chicago  pro- 
perty was  paying  large  interests,  and  the  young 
mistress  of  the  old  house  was  as  generously  lav- 
ish in  expenditure  as  had  been  her  ancestor,  the 
princely  and  prodigal  Palatine. 

Miss  Esmond's  home  had  been  lost  in  the 
flames  of  Richmond.  At  the  time  of  Eue's  re- 
turn Mrs.  Hartley,  Miss  Esmond,  and  Anne 
Warrington — the  victims  of  three  conflagrations 
— were  living  together  in  a  small  rented  house  in 
Danville.  Mrs.  Hartley's  Eose,  Miss  Esmond's 
old  cook,  and  the  ancient  white-headed  butler 
from  Castlewood  completed  the  establishment, 
which  was  supported  by  the  scanty  remittances 
gathered  by  the  head  man  from  the  negro 
tenants  at  Belleview. 

Harry  Warrington  was  killed  during  the  de- 
fence of  Richmond,  and  the  Warrington  place 
on  the  Rappahannock  was  a  deserted  ruin. 

Small  as  was  Mrs.  Hartley's  income,  it  was  the 
sole  resource  of  the  household.  And  even  to 
supply  the  wants  of  her  friends  she  would  not 
confess  her  poverty  or  ask  aid  of  Captain  Hart- 


23S  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

ley,  who  at  rare  intervals  wrote  ceremonious 
notes  of  inquiry  and  ceremonious  offers  of  ser- 
vice. To  Mrs.  Cartaret  she  simply  explained  the 
situation  of  her  friends,  and  made  tlieir  situation 
her  reason  for  staying  in  Virginia  when  the 
suggestion  was  made  that  she  should  go  to  Oak- 
hill.  The  only  help  that  did  come  was  in  the 
form  of  rich  and  expensive  Parisian  toilets  from 
Mrs.  Cartaret,  which  were  sold  in  Eichmond 
when  the  needs  of  the  household  were  greatest. 
From  the  dressmaker  who  was  trusted  to  make 
these  sales  Rue  learned  where  her  cousin  was 
staying  and  something  of  her  cousin's  need. 

Steenie  and  the  governess  who  had  come  with 
them  from  Montreal  had  driven  to  town  in  the 
Cartaret  coach  with  the  Cartaret  heiress.  The 
carriage  left  the  sisters  and  their  chaperone  at 
the  Exchange  Hotel  and  w^ent  back  empty,  but 
the  coachman  carried  an  order  to  "The  Cedars" 
to  have  the  house  prepared  for  a  large  party 
of  visitoi's,  and  Oscar  was  requested  to  bring 
Mammy  Sara  and  some  luggage  that  Avas  need- 
ed that  night  to  the  hotel.  The  orders  were 
promptly  obeyed. 

Leaving  Steenie,  the  governess,  and  maid  to 
await  her  return  at  the  Exchange,  Rue,  with  Os- 


''IPSO  JUREr  239 

car  as  travelling  attendant,  started  to  Danville  in 
the  early  morning  train. 

From  this  expedition  the  "Princess"  came 
back  in  triumph.  After  a  hard-fonght  battle 
with  Miss  Esmond  she  captured  the  entire  house- 
hold. The  third  day  the  three  ladies  returned 
w^ith  Rue  ;  and  before  another  week  their  effects 
followed  in  charge  of  the  colored  detachment, 
commanded  by  Oscar. 

From  that  day  Rue  made  a  voluntary  renunci- 
ation of  her  sovereignty.  The  homeless  and  pen- 
niless spinster  was  the  high  court  of  appeal  at 
"The  Cedars."  All  household  questions  were 
referred  to  her,  and  Rue  was  simply  the  tirst  of 
her  subjects.  Until  her  death,  which  happened 
two  years  later,  Miss  Esmond  was  firmly  con- 
vinced that  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  sisters 
to  reside  at  "The  Cedars"  without  the  protec- 
tion of  her  presence.  Mrs.  Hartley  and  Anne 
Warrington  were  installed  as  counsellors.  The 
v/omanly  side  of  Rue's  character  was  never  so 
beautifully  shown  as  in  tlie  respectful  and  defe- 
rential' manner  with  which  she  treated  these 
guests,  and  the  tenacity  with  which  she  exacted 
for  them  alike  respect  from  all  of  her  household. 
The  Montreal  governess  was   dismissed  for  an 


240  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

ill-tempered  argument  with  Miss  Esmond  ;  and 
the  only  time  Rue  ever  spoke  with  even  a  tone 
of  reproof  to  Steenie  was  for  a  childish  imperti- 
nence ventured  in  her  governess's  defence. 

The  Hartleys  still  stayed  abroad.  Mrs.  Car- 
taret's  letters  were  all  about  her  niece — she  now 
openly  called  Mai  her  niece. 

The  Hartleys  had  taken  an  apartment  on  the 
Champs  Elj^sees.  In  the  winter  the  letters  were 
of  diplomatic  and  imperial  balls  and  dinners, 
of  evenings  at  the  opera  and  receptions  in  tJie 
FoMhourg — for  the  Rameaux  were  of  the  old 
nobility.  Tlien  vintage  scenes  were  i^hotographed 
from  the  chateau  in  Touraine.  There  were 
short  trips  in  the  spring  to  Italy  ;  summer  junk- 
etings in  the  Alj^ine  country  ;  Bohemian  frolics 
in  the  Tyrol ;  and  rhapsodies  of  written  delight 
from  the  Rhineland. 

Mrs.  Cartaret  had  found  that  revival  of  youth, 
that  wonderful  Indian  summer,  which  regilds  the 
life  of  women  in  France,  and  so  she  let  herself 
float  with  the  current.  She  had  eaten  the  leaves 
of  the  lotus  "compliment"  until  she  was  drunk 
with  the  subtle  essence  of  that  penetrative  aro- 
ma, which  creeps  to  the  brain  and  fills  life  with 
the  sensuous  breathing  of  the  self-flattery  which 


''IPSO  JURE."  241 

it  awakens.  The  moral  consciousness  was  lost 
in  this  lethargy  of  soul  and  intellect,  and  the 
painful  spectacle  was  presented  of  their  entire 
subjugation  to  physical  suggestion  and  impres- 
sion. 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke  would  have  defined  it  as  a 
going  back  into  the  ''Hartley  animalism,"  a 
lapse,  or  rather  a  loss,  of  that  more  "  remote  acci- 
dent" of  ancestorship  which  had  lifted  Julia 
out  of  the  direct  Hartley  line. 

Whatever  it  was,  the  cliange  had  been  ac- 
complished. Mrs.  Carisbrooke  would  have 
seized  and  defined  the  fact.  Kate  only  felt  it. 
But  the  feeling  was  enough.  It  was  the  first 
loosening  of  the  old  influence  her  sister-in-law 
had  held  in  her  life.  Every  fresh  letter  from 
Paris  was  further  detachment. 

In  loosening  the  past  Kate  had  gained  strength 
for  the  future— strength  and  insight ;  and  the 
dawning  of  insight  is  the  dawning  of  wisdom. 
She  saw  clearly  the  wrong  she  had  done  herself 
in  following  the  world's  ruling.  She,  too,  had 
flattered  herself  with  delusions  ;  only  her  delu- 
sions had  been  built  into  a  stately  fabric,  which 
she  had  called  self-renunciation.  But  that  self- 
renunciation  was  neither  for  God's  sake  nor  for 


242  THE  MODERN  HAG  AM. 

humanity's  sake.  It  was  only  a  compromise 
with  the  powers  and  princii)alities  that  are  em- 
bodied in  that  pregnant  evil  called  tbe  world. 

Her  veiled  separation  had  enforced  upon  her 
not  only  a  thousand  petty  hypocrisies  but  a  false 
and  barren  life.  It  had  hardened  Hartley  into  a 
criminal,  and  brought  Hagar  to  madness  before 
it  brought  her  to  repentance. 

Kate  knew-  now  that  she  should  have  let  no 
persuasion  sway  her,  no  cowardly  fear  of  the 
world's  opinion  persuade  her  to  a  lie.  Had  she 
loved  the  sinner  while  hating  the  sin  the  wound 
must  have  healed.  But  the  failure  in  forgiveness 
taught  her  the  mistake  which  had  maimed  her 
life.  It  was  not  the  faithlessness  of  another,  but 
her  own  lack  of  love.  She  was  learning  painfully 
that  great  heart-truth  which  is  the  last  lesson 
wisdom  teaches  the  feelings— that  to  be  loved  is 
nothing,  but  to  love  is  everything ! 

Not  in  receiving  but  in  giving  is  the  soul  filled 
with  light  and  lifted  heavenward. 

Kate's  first  enlightenment  had  come  through 
her  meeting  with  Leszinksky.  Fortunately  for 
her,  it  had  come  before  the  turning-point  in  her 
life  had  been  reached.  Her  own  miserable  fail- 
ure had  blinded  her  to  the  heavenly  possibilities 


''IPSO  jure:'  243 

of  lo7e.  Pride,  wliicli  is  the  first  of  human  as 
love  is  of  divine  qualities,  had  saved  her  from  the 
abandonment  of  her  personal  dignity.  But  the 
concealed  separation  forced  falsehood  into  every 
action  of  the  daily  life  which  was  itself  a  lie. 

In  such  an  existence  one  of  two  terminations 
is  inevitable,  unless  the  mortal  tie  should  break. 
If  a  strong  temptation  comes  and  the  devil  Op- 
portunity stands  by,  the  stained  soul  sinks  to 
the  lowest  level ;  or  if  temptation  is  absent,  or 
resisted  only  through  base  fear  of  the  world,  fold 
by  fold  the  soul  is  encased  in  the  cerements  that 
preserve  its  stains  and  make  them  immortal. 

Leszinksky's  love  for  her  cousin,  which  had 
conquered  death  in  waiting  trustfully  for  the  last 
and  perfect  reunion,  was  a  revelation  to  the  wo- 
man whose  first  awakening  was  a  passionate  and 
selfish  impulse.  As  I  have  said,  it  was  the  reve- 
lation of  a  new  gospel.  Its  first  eifect  was  con- 
viction of  sin.  Its  second  was  the  strengthening 
of  the  higher  pride.  Then  through  slow  pro- 
cesses came  the  gradual  sloughing  off  of  false- 
hood. The  small  daily  deceits  of  her  life  were 
dropped.  Those  who  stood  behind  the  curtain 
when  the  actress  made  her  entrances  and  exits 
upon  the  world's  stage  saw  the  dropping  of  de- 


244  THE  MODERN  BAG  AM. 

ceptions.  Then,  after  Leszinksky's  death,  shams 
were  set  aside  and  the  long-delayed  battle  with 
the  world  was  accepted. 

It  was  the  end  of  all  the  false  things  in  her 
life  ;  from  that  moment  she  determined  that  no 
persuasion,  no  worldly  reasoning  should  ever 
again  prevail  with  her,  should  ever  win  her  back 
to  a  mere  show  and  pretence  of  marriage.  *^  For 
Julia's  sake" — Julia  had  not  then  lost  her 
influence — ''for  Julia's  sake  I  will  not  take 
the  world  into  my  confidence;  for  her  sake, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  Cartaret  name,  I  Avill 
not  go  into  a  divorce  court.  But  I  will  act  no 
more  untruths  ;  I  will  live  my  life  entirely  apart 
from  her  brother,  and  as  I  think  life  ought  to 
be  lived." 

This  thought  was  ruling  her  when  suddenly 
in  the  summer  of  1867  Mrs.  Cartaret  arrived  at 
"The  Cedars." 

There  were  other  guests  there — Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke,  Molly  and  her  children. 

Carson  had  made  a  day's  visit  to  "The  Ce- 
dars" during  the  previous  winter,  when  Rue's 
chilliness  had  partially  thawed. 

In  the  spring  Miss  Esmond's  health  began  to 
fail,  and  once  or  twice  she  ex2iressed  a  wish  to 


''IPSO  JURE."  ,  245 

see  Dr.  Carisbrooke.  Rue  commenced  a  cere- 
monious letter  of  invitation ;  happening  to  look 
up  from  lier  writing,  she  saw  her  father' s  sword 
hanging  above  an  old  sabre  of  Carson's  which 
had  been  broken  in  that  desperate  fight  at 
Bouie's  Hill,  and  which  she  had  kept  and 
brought  to  *'The  Cedars"  with  her  treasures. 
Her  father  had  hung  it  where  it  now  was.  The 
thought  of  her  father,  which  had  heretofore  em- 
bittered her  when  she  recollected  the  anguish  in 
his  face  at  the  last  hour  of  his  life  and  the  look 
of  search  for  the  absent,  now  softened  her  feeling. 

The  broken  sword  conquered  a  peace. 

A  cordially -written  invitation  brought  all  the 
family  from  Rosebank,  glad,  eager  to  show  their 
gladness  at  the  return  of  the  old-time  kindliness. 
Carson  had  come,  too,  but  now  he  was  at  West 
Point.  In  a  day  or  two  he  would  return,  and 
with  him  "King  Stan's"  godson. 

Dr.  Carisbrooke  had  advised  the  seashore  for 
Miss  Esmond  and  for  Steenie,  who  had  been 
delicate  and  strangely  despondent  all  summer. 
Rue  and  Dr.  Carisbrooke  went  with  the  inva- 
lids to  Cape  May.  They  left  them  there  with 
Anne  Warrington  and  Mammy  Sara  as  guards 
and    care-takers.      Rue    had    offered   to  excuse 


246  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

herself  to  her  guests  and  stay  with  her  sister, 
but  Steenie  had  insisted  that  Rue  should  leave 
them. 

Rue  rather  reluctantly  admitted  the  truth  of 
Steenie' s  last  argument. 

*' You  will  spoil  me,  sister,  and  j^ou  are  over- 
careful  and  anxious  ;  I  think  that  is  one  reason  I 
am  so  nervous.  Please  leave  me  with  Miss  Es- 
mond and  Anne.  I  cannot  tell  why  it  is,  but 
your  manner,  your  constant  watchfulness,  ex- 
cites me  ;  I  am  better  alone." 

So  the  older  sister  uttered  no  further  word  of 
objection  to  her  dismissal. 

The  day  after  the  doctor  and  Rue  returned 
Carson  came  without  his  son.  The  young  cadet 
had  stopped  to  make  a  short  stay  with  a  com- 
rade who  lived  in  Philadelphia.  That  afternoon 
Mrs.  Cartaret  drove  out  from  Richmond. 

She  had  just  arrived  from  Paris,  but  she 
''  could  not  stay  " — not  even  that  night.  "  Tliere 
were  business  matters  of  moment  awaiting  her 
return  to  Washington.  She  came  to  talve  Kate 
back  with  her."  Such  were  her  answers  to 
Rue's  hospitable  urging. 

The  sisters-in-law  were  left  together,  and  Mrs. 
Cartaret' s  explanation  grew  more  definite.     Her 


'  IPSO  JURE."  247 

brother  had  come  with  her.     Oakhill  was  sold 
and  Kate's  signature  was  needed. 

There  were  also  other  deeds  to  be  signed  in 
which  her  right  of  dower  must  be  relinquished. 
At  first  Kate  refused  to  go,  at  which  Julia  looked 
curiously  astonished.  When  Kate  made  no  ex- 
planation of  her  refusal  her  sister-in-law  returned 
to  the  attack.  ''Did  Kate  object  to  the  relin- 
quishment of  right  in  the  property  ? ' '  The  an- 
swer more  than  intimated  that  Kate  "did  not 
care  at  all  for  the  property,  but  she  did  not  wish 
to  see  Captain  Hartley."  The  next  question  was 
direct  : 

"What  is  it,  Kate?  What  slander  has  been 
told  you?" 

' '  No  slander ;  simply  I  do  not  choose  to  see 
your  brother." 

"This  is  Yirginia  Carisbrooke' s  meddling." 
"Which  is  unjust  to  Mrs.  Carisbrooke.     You 
know  that  I  have  been  virtually  divorced  from 
your  brother  for  years.      I  now  prefer  that  the 
separation  should  be  known  and  real." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  apply  for  a  divorce,  Kate  ? " 
"  I  do  not,  but  I  mean  to  live  alone." 
"  Well,  if  you  are  happier  I  shall  urge  no  ob- 
jection, neither  will  Wenner  ;  in  fact,  he  is  going 


248  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

back  to  Paris  with  me.  But,  Kate,  you  are  his 
wife  in  i^oint  of  law,  and  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  you  sign  these  deeds.  Moreover,  it  is 
partly  to  oblige  me  ;  I  am  going  to  be  married  to 
a  cousin  of  the  Due  de  Eameaux,  and  Wenner 
has  promised  to  pay  the  dot.'''' 

This  was  said  with  a  flippant,  silly  giggle  and  an 
affectation  of  youthful  ingenuousness  that  first 
amazed  Kate  and  then  touched  a  different  key. 
She  tried  in  vain  to  restrain  the  laugh  that 
would  come.  The  effort  to  be  grave  helped  the 
comic  effect.  There  was  a  hearty  outburst  of 
laughter,  which  Mrs.  Cartaret's  look  of  embar- 
rassment first  increased  and  then  stilled.  Be- 
fore the  now  angry  ingenue  found  words  Kate 
softened  her  by  yielding  to  the  request  she  had 
preferred. 

''  Of  course,  Julia,  if  it  is  really  important  to 
you  tliat  I  should  go  to  Washington,  I  will  go. 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  my  ill-timed  mirth.  I  am 
not  given  to  such  silliness,  but  something  upset 
me  ;  I  think  1  am  nervous.  Must  you  absolutely 
go  to-night  ?  Can  you  not  wait  until  the  early 
train  to-morrow  I " 

''  No  ;  I  cannot  fail  to  be  there  to-night.  Wen- 
ner will  expect  to  meet  me  early  to-morrow  morn- 


'*iPSo  jure:'  249 

ing.  He  is  to  come  from  New  York  in  the  niglit 
train." 

There  was  still  a  shade  of  anger  in  her  voice, 
and  Kate  wisely  left  her  to  rest  and  recover. 
*' There  was  need  of  preparation  for  the  trip." 
The  ladies  all  returned  to  entertain  Mrs.  Cartaret, 
and  after  an  early  dinner  Rue  sent  the  travellers 
to  the  station  without  their  going  back  to  Rich- 
mond. 

Kate  returned  in  two  days.  The  news  of  Mrs. 
Cartaret' s  engagement  was  told,  and  the  evening- 
was  filled  with  questions  and  laughing  comments 
until  good-nights  were  said. 

Rose  had  finished  her  duties  and  left  her  mis- 
tress when  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  knocked  at  the  door 
and  asked  : 

' '  Are  you  very  sleepy,  Kate  ?    May  I  come  in  T ' 

*^Not  at  all  sleepy;  and  I  shall  rest  better  if 
you  will  come  in  and  say  your  say." 

*'  No,  Kate  ;  I  came  to  listen.  If  you  have  no- 
thing to  tell  me  I  shall  only  repeat  my  good- 
night." 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  to  hear  ?" 

*^I  am  not  difficult.  I  will  be  content  with 
scraps  of  information.  To  simplify  the  process 
suppose  you  begin  at  the  beginning." 


250  THE  MODERN  HAOAR, 

*'  Which  beginning  % " 

"Well,  with  Julia's  raid  upon  'The  Cedars.' 
Why  were  you  wanted  in  Washington  ?  and 
what  argument  prevailed  upon  you  to  meet  Cap- 
tain Hartley  ?  I  know  you  had  resolved  to  avoid 
such  a  meeting." 

*'  I  have  never  said  it." 

' '  I  do  not  remember  that  you  have — in  words. 
But  then,  my  Kate,  you  have  told  me  times  with- 
out number  when  you  were  unconscious  of  the 
telling.  I  should  be  very  stupid  if  I  had  not 
learned  your  face  in  all  these  years." 

"Captain  Hartley  has  sold  Oakhill,  the  house 
in  W^ashington,  and  some  property  in  Xew 
York.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should  sign  the 
deeds.  At  first  I  hesitated  about  going,  even  to 
do  that,  which  I  was  quite  willing  to  do.  Then 
Julia  told  me  of  her  intended  marriage.  These 
sales  were  made  to  arrange  the  payment  of  her 
dotr 

"I  did  not  know  she  had  any  interest  in  old 
Simon  Hartley's  estate.  I  always  thought  he 
left  her  nothing." 

"She  had  no  interest  in  it;  but  her  brother 
assumed  the  debt  I  was  owing  her.  He  released 
Belle  view  from  the  settlement  of  her  jointure. 


''IPSO  jure:'  251 

My  father  had.  made  it  a  charge  upon  the  es- 
tate." 

"I  would  not  have  believed  Captain  Hartley 
had  ever  been  so  generous  to  either  you  or  Julia. 
Ah  !  I  see  he  was  not.  Your  face  is  a  very  open 
book,  my  Kate.  Will  you  tell  me  what  was 
the  consideration  upon  which  his  liberality 
builded?" 

^'  I  think  he  was  generous  in  the  matter,  Mrs. 
Carisbrooke.  At  least  he  took  risks  in  order  that 
Belleview  might  belong  to  me  unencumbered. 
He  paid  Julia,  or  rather  she  released  the  estate 
and  took  his  note  for  the  money.  He  also  paid 
a  chattel  mortgage  on  the  negroes — a  debt  that 
troubled  me  greatly.  I  was  very  anxious  to  be 
independent,  to  own  my  home  and  have  it  free. 
To  arrange  that  for  me  he  cleared  it  of  all  in- 
debtedness. Of  course  I  was  only  too  glad  to 
relinquish  any  right  in  his  property." 

"  Oh  !  I  understand:  he  bought  your  right  of 
dower.  Well,  it  seems  you  sold  it  to  advantage. 
His  real  estate  was  no  great  fortune  ;  and  I  hear 
that  the  Hartley  millions  in  stocks  have  melted." 

"I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  took  his  money 
for  relinquishment  of  his  property.  I  have  never 
thought  I  had  any  right  to  his  wealth.     That 


252  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

was  why  the  indebtedness  I  was  under  to  him  in 
the  settlement  of  my  father's  estate  so  troubled 
me.  But  I  did  not  think  Captain  Hartley  paid  by 
my  giving  up  a  claim  I  should  never  have  urged, 
which  it  would  not  have  been  honest  to  urge." 

''But,  Kate,  I  do  not  understand.  Did  not 
you  say  the  relinquishment  of  dower  was  the 
consideration?" 

"N'ot  the  only  one.  In  fact,  I  thought  that 
nothing.  I  transferred  to  him  my  right  of  in- 
heritance in  that  Alabama  estate  of  my  father' s 
uncle — all  right  of  inheritance  from  the  Cartaret 
family.  There  were  some  lands  in  western  Vir- 
ginia, Vv^hich  were  afterwards  valuable.  You 
know  we  won  the  Cartaret  suit  in  the  Supreme 
Court.  I  was  glad  to  know  the  western  Virginia 
lands  alone  paid  Captain  Hartley  all  I  owed 
him.  The  Alabama  property  is  comi)aratively 
valueless." 

''You  s-i-g-n-e-d  a-w-a-y  all  rights  coming 
from  the  Cartaretsf 

"Yes." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke  sprang  upon  her  feet  and 
looked  steadily  at  Kate  as  she  said  : 

"Do  you  know  what  you  have  done ?  Do  you 
know  that  you  have  mortgaged  Rue's  life  to  that 


^^  IPSO  jure:'  253 

scoundrel  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  have  made 
him  the  heir  of  '  The  Cedars '  ?  One  by  one  lie 
has  removed  every  obstacle  !  I  see  it  now.  I 
believe  all  Carson's,  all  Eobert  Carisbrooke' s 
suspicions  to  be  well  grounded.  To  spare  3^our 
feelings  we  kept  this  from  you.  After  your 
separation  from  him  they  all  thought  Rue  safe  ; 
for  without  you  he  would  have  no  claim.  But 
now  ?  Why,  in  selling  your  right  you  have  al- 
most put  the  prize  he  coveted  in  his  hands.  You 
have  put  a  price  upon  Rue' s  life.  If  his  cupidity 
halts  it  is  through  fear  of  Carson.  Carson  has 
sworn  to  him  to  kill  him  if  Rue  dies  by  any 
accident,  any  violence." 

"White,  pale,  and  trembling,  Kate  slid  from  the 
bed  and  caught  at  her  friend's  hands  : 

'  Mrs.  Carisbrooke !  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  !  you 
think  him  capable  of  murder  f ' ' 

*' Carson  believes  the  attack  upon  Bouie's  Hill 
was  aimed  at  Rue's  life.  He  believes  Hartley  in- 
stigated tliat  attack.  The  proofs  are  too  broken 
and  slight  to  convict  him  ;  but  they  were  con- 
vincing to  Carson  and  to — to  others.  I  know 
Stanislaus  Leszinksky  struggled  against  his  own 
beliefs.     Kate,  can  you  bear  to  hear  more  ?  " 

"Yes;  goon."  .        .  .....    -  ._  '  ^. 


254  THE  310DERN  HAGAR. 

A  sweeping  cloud  of  black  hair  had  fallen 
over  her  night-dress.  Above  it  a  white  face  was 
set  in  rigid  lines.  The  only  color  was  the  flash- 
ing light  of  the  dark  eyes,  which  were  fixed 
steadily  upon  Mrs.  Carisbrooke. 

"Kate,  it  will  take  all  your  courage,  but  you 
must  hear  it ;  the  case  now  is  desperate,  and  it 
needs  desperate  remedies.  You  remember  the 
English  horse  which  killed  your  brother?" 

"Yes;  Captain  Hartley  bought  it  w^hen  we 
were  in  London." 

"He  told  Tom  it  was  savage  and  unmanage- 
able ;  but  he  did  not  tell  him  that  it  had  killed 
a  groom,  as  it  afterward  killed  Tom." 

"You  believe — " 

"  That  when  he  bought  the  horse  Hartley  was 
thinking  of  'the great  Cartaret  estate.'  He  told 
the  story  of  Tom's  death  to  your  father  in  such 
an  abrupt  manner  that  the  telling  killed  him." 

"And  you  all  thought  this  and  left  me  with 
a  murderer?  " 

"  Not  in  the  beginning.  The  proof  of  the  at- 
tack at  Bouie's  Hill  changed  what  was  until  then 
regarded  as  an  unjust  and  unwarranted  conclu- 
sion of  Robert's  into  well-grounded  suspicion." 

' '  My  Ir other  !    My  father  /  " 


''IPSO  jure:'  255 

The  cry  was  not  only  the  cry  of  grief  ;  it  was 
the  challenge  of  revenge.  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 
caught  up  a  light  shawl  and  wrapped  it  about 
Kate,  and  pushed  the  soft,  wadded  slippers  to- 
ward the  bare  feet. 

''Come,  Kate,  we  must  go  at  once  to  Caris- 
brooke.   He  is  with  Carson  in  the  library." 

As  the  library  door  opened  two  astonished 
gentlemen  threw  down  their  cigars  and  rose  has- 
tily.    The  doctor  asked : 

'*  What  has  happened,  Virginia?" 

''Kate  has  sold  her  interest  in  Kue's  inheri- 
tance to  Hartley." 

There  was  a  hurried  "What!"  from  Doctor 
Carisbrooke  and  the  muttered  thunder  of  a  terri- 
ble oath  from  the  ex-dragoon. 

The  story  was  told  by  Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  Seat- 
ing Kate  and  throwing  a  rug  about  her,  Doctor 
Carisbrooke  began  a  cool  questioning  of  the  ex- 
cited witness : 

"  When  did  you  sign  the  agreement  of  trans- 
fer?" 

"  Several  years  ago  in  Washington  before  the 
suit  in  the  Supreme  Court  was  decided." 

"  Was  it  read  to  you  ?  Did  you  understand  it 
perfectly?" 


256  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

*' Yes  ;  it  was  read.  Captain  Hartley's  attor- 
ney and  a  notary  were  present.  Julia  and  Cap- 
tain Hartley's  secretary  witnessed  it.  I  never 
thought  of  Rue  or  of  any  possible  interest  I 
might  ever  have  in  ^  The  Cedars.'  " 

**  Was  there  any  mention  of  the  old  agreement 
when  you  were  in  Washington  yesterday  ?" 

*'Yes;  after  I  had  signed  the  deeds  of  sale 
Captain  Hartley  gave  me  two  papers  to  sign, 
which  I  read.  One  was  an  acknowledgment  for 
the  moneys  he  had  paid  out  for  my  father' s  es- 
tate. The  other — O  Doctor  Carisbrooke !  I  see 
now  how  I  was  deceived — the  other  was  a  long 
legal  document  with  different  items,  I  do  not 
know  what,  but  something  about  the  legacies  to 
which  I  signed  my  relinquishment.  There  was 
another  small,  thin  parchment  attached  ;  I  think  it 
was  pinned  to  that  paper.  I  suspected  nothing, 
and  I  looked  at  it  carelessly ;  but  I  remem- 
ber there  was  a  confusing  repetition  of  all 
actual  and  possible  heirship  from  '  the  Cartaret 
estate.'  I  am  sure  now  it  was  so  expressed — 
'the  Cartaret  estate'  I  thought  only  of  my 
father's  estate:" 

^'Fortunately  you  are  still  living  to  testify  to 
that.     The  crafty  scoundrel  has  not  possession  of 


''IPSO  jure:'  257 

'  The  Cedars '  yet.  But  we  must  force  him  to 
surrender  the  papers  you  signed  ignorantly." 

Carson,  who  had  been  walking  the  room  to  cool 
his  lage,  said : 

*'  I  will  go  to  Washington  in  the  early  morning 
train.     By ,  I  mean  he  shall  give  them  up ! " 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  musingly,  with  as 
much  deliberation  as  if  Carson  was  a  patient 
amiably  waiting  for  a  prescription,  then  he  said  : 

''  I  do  not  think  you  had  better  go  alone.  We 
must  be  careful  to  have  witnesses.  And  the  de- 
mand must  be  made  by  Robert  as  Kate's  trus- 
tee— you  and  Eobert  together,  for  you  are  Kue'  s 
trustees.  I  think  I  will  be  your  best  witness. 
You  had  better  take  me.  But  you  must  send 
some  one  to  Richmond  for  Robert.  Come  to 
think  of  it,  we  will  go  to  Richmond,  late  as  it 
is.  It  is  the  only  way  to  explain  to  Robert  the 
urgency  of  the  matter.  ]S"o,  do  not  ring ;  that 
will  rouse  the  household.  It  is  better  not  to  say 
anything  of  this  to  Rue  or  Molly  ;  I  would  rather 
they  did  not  know.  Rue  would  be  either  an- 
gry or  careless,  and  Molly  needlessly  nervous 
and  alarmed.  Better  tell  them  it  is  a  matter  of 
Kate's — a  signature  which  she  was  deceived  into 
giving.     I  shall  be  Jesuit  enough  not  to  tell  all 


258  THE  MODERN  EAGAR. 

tlie  truth.  Kate  will  have  to  go  with  us.  And, 
Virginia,  you  had  better  come.  Can  you  be 
ready  in  time,  and  meet  us  in  the  morning  at 
the  station  near  here  ?  We  will  start  from  Rich- 
mond." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke  promised,  and  the  doctor 
and  Carson  went  out  to  find  Oscar. 

When  they  returned  Kate  had  gone  to  her 
room.  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  was  waiting.  Carson 
went  to  say  good-by  to  Molly  and  give  his  partial 
explanation.  While  the  doctor  was  packing  his 
small  valise  Mrs  Carisbrooke  asked  : 

"  If  Hartley  has  gone  to  New  York  \ " 

^ '  We  will  go  on. ' ' 

^'Then  I  had  better  go  prepared  for  that 
trip?" 

^^Yes;  and  tell  Kate.  Virginia,  make  Kate 
understand  that  she  must  get  a  divorce.  I  feel 
sure  it  is  the  only  safe  way  out  of  this  business. 
That  would  force  a  final  settlement.  Every 
day's  delay  gives  this  fellow  a  chance  to  plot 
new  villany." 

"  One  would  think,  Carisbrooke,  we  were  back 
in  the  middle  ages  ;  and  yet  it  seems  half  ridicu- 
lous to  think  of  Simon  Hartley's  heir  as  a  nine- 
teenth-century Borgia . ' ' 


^^  IPSO  jure:'  -259 

The  doctor  stopped  his  pa<5king  and  looked 
lip. 

•'It  is  rather  queer,  now  that  I  think  of  it.  I 
saw  old  Hartley  just  before  his  death  ;  as  you 
spoke  his  face  came  back  to  me.  And  I  remem- 
bered at  once  that  he  did  resemble  that  picture 
of  Caesar  Borgia  we  saw  in  Rome.  It  is  queer. 
But  now  I  have  stupidly  set  jou  off  on  your  pet 
craze.     There  you  go  1  " 

She  was  softly  clapping  her  hands  and  nod- 
ding at  him. 

"  O  Carisbrooke  !  you  have  stumbled  on  a  dis- 
covery. I  remember  that  picture.  Hartle^^  him- 
self will  look  just  like  it,  if  he  is  not  hanged  too 
early  in  life.  And  Mai !  and  Mai ! — I  have  tried 
and  tried  to  trace  her  beauty  to  my  gambler. 
The  effort  was  always  a  failure  ;  but  I  know  now 
where  the  classic  head  was  modelled.  Brow,  and 
head,  and  chin — all  Borgia  !  All  my  gambler  did 
was  to  keep  the  hook  out  of  his  gi-andchild' s 
nose.  Why,  you  dear  old  Carisbrooke,  we  have 
stumbled  backAvard  into  the  middle  ages  with  a 
vengeance.  That  head  of  Stan's  in  the  library, 
with  its  high  resolve,  is  not  the  head  of  a  soldier. 
He  is  our  mediaeval  saint ;  Rue  is—" 

^^  Virginia,  we  are  all — I  nearly  said  it,  and  it 


260  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

would  have  been  true.     But  I  will  say  I  am  a 
booby,    without   characterizing  the   rest   of   the 
family.     Do  please  leave  the  middle  ages  rotten 
and  forgotten,  and  find  me  some  shirts  with  but 
tons  on." 

* '  Carisbrooke,  you  are  the  very  nicest  old  man 
I  know,  but  you  are  brutally  unpoetic.  My  bril- 
liant imagination  and  my  scholarly  inquisitive- 
ness  are  wasted  qualities.  I  have  not  even  been 
able  to  transmit  them  to  Molly.  She  is  as  stolid 
and  matter-of-fact  as — her  latest  ancestor." 

''  Tliank  Heaven  !     She  is  not  mediseval." 

'^No,  she  isn't.  She,  and  you,  and  Carson 
would  anchor  any  house  to  the  prosaic.  Here 
are  the  shirts." 

"  Thank  you  !  Good-night !  Be  at  the  station 
in  time.  Better  see  Kate  again  to-night  and  tell 
her  to  be  prepared  to  go  to  New  York.  When 
will  you  tell  Rue  of  this  flitting — to-night  or  in 
the  early  morning  ?  " 

^'Why,  to-night,  of  course.  The  cJidtelaine 
must  be  warned  of  our  departure,  and  I  must 
tell  without  telling  the  reason.  How  much  she 
will  miss  us  !  " 

''She  will  have  Molly." 

**  "Which  means  reason,  and  common  sense.     I 


''IPSO  JURE."  261 

undersfand  the  stab  and  the  self-gratulation  ! 
Adieu,  my  ancient  and  re  veered  medicus  !  " 

Kate  and  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  were  standing  on 
the  platform  next  morning  as  the  Richmond  train 
for  Washington  approached.  Carson  was  on  the 
steps  as  it  stoj^ped,  and  they  were  met  at  the 
door  by  the  doctor  and  his  brother.  There  were 
repressed  eagerness  and  excitement  in  every  face. 

In  Washington  the  ladies  waited  at  the  station 
until  the  gentlemen  returned.  Hartley  had  gone 
on  to  IN'ew  York. 

That  night  the  self-appointed  deputation  ar- 
rived at  the  New  York  Hotel.  Hartley  was  not 
in  town. 

The  pursuit  was  not  given  up.  They  drove 
out  to  Oakhill.  He  had  not  been  there  since  the 
night  before  he  went  to  Washington  to  see  his 
sister.     Neither  had  Mrs.  Cartaret  been  there. 

The  disappointed  detachment  returned  to  New 
York,  and  a  fresh  examination  of  the  hotel 
registers  proved  that  Hartley  and  his  sister 
had  come  on  from  Washington  the  same  day 
Kate  returned  to   "The  Cedars." 

They  had  spent  the  night  at  the  Astor  House, 
and  sailed  the  next  morning  for  Liverpool. 

The  pursuit  was  ended. 


CHAPTER   XXXYIII. 

"  Xow  for  the  love  of  God  aud  of  seint  Jon 
Leseth  uo  tyme,  but  forthe  tis  ye  may." 

KATE  would  not  listen  to  reason  in  the  person 
of  Mrs.  Carisbrooke.  ' '  A  divorce  ?  No  ! " 
She  remembered  Leszinksky 's  words  :  "A 
legal  separation  de  corps  et  de  hiens?^''  "If 
that  was  needed  to  get  the  papers — yes.  That 
would  only  be  a  lawful  ratification  of  existent 
conditions."  Even  that  she  would  not  do  if 
Hartley  would  surrender  all  claim,  real  or  pos- 
sible, that  she  had  ignorantly  signed  away  to 
Eue's  inheritance.  She  "had  already  written  to 
him  and  to  Julia,  and  she  felt  sure  he  would 
give  up  those  papers.  Public  scandal  was  un- 
necessary. He  would  yield  to  her  demand,  sup- 
ported as  it  was  by  Mr.  Robert  Carisbrooke, 
who  had  been  the  executor  of  her  father's  will." 
As  Carson,  for  private  reasons  of  his  own,  was 
inclined  to  this  opinion,  it  was  decided  in  the 
Carisbrooke  council  to  wait  for  Hartley's  an- 
swer. 
Dr.  Carisbrooke' s  holiday  was  over.     He  had 


''IPSO  jure:'  ^63 

to  return  to  patients  who  were  grumbling  at  his 
prolonged  absence.  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  and  little 
Brooke  Carson  went  to  Cincinnati  with  him. 

Miss  Esmond,  Anne  Warrington,  and  Steenie 
were  still  at  Cape  May.  Dr.  Carisbrooke  had 
thought  it  better  for  the  invalids  not  to  return 
until  the  October  frosts  had  conquered  tlie  mias- 
ma that  crept  up  with  the  east  wind  from  the 
Chickahominy. 

When  the  health-seekers  should  return  from 
Cape  May,  Kate  was  going  South  with  the  Robert 
Carisbrookes— to  Selma,  to  Mobile,  and  then  to 
Havana  for  the  winter.  They  insisted  she  should 
stay  with  them  until  her  affairs  were  definitely 
settled. 

The  Carsons  had  promised  to  winter  at  ''The 
Cedars."  In  fact,  Carson  knew  he  would  be  con- 
stantly anxious  and  expectant  awaj^  from  there. 

The  "Borgia"  redivivus  of  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 
was  the  heie  noire  of  the  ex- dragoon. 

(When  a  practical,  unimaginative  man  makes 
a  hobby  of  a  dislike  it  sets  him  chasing  the 
wildest  fancies.  In  the  simplest  incident  he  sees 
the  working  of  sinister  design.  Every  noise  is  a 
note  of  warning,  every  stranger  a  person  to  be 
suspected.) 


264  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

The  notion  was  firmly  fixed  in  Carson's  mind 
that  he  was  defending  a  fortress.  He  jealously 
guarded  approach  to  "The  Cedars,"  and  he  soon 
had  two  devoted  and  vigilant  aids. 

The  first  moment  she  could  learn  where  they 
were  after  the  war  was  ended  Rue  had  sent  to 
Stearns  and  Pike  to  come  to  "The  Cedars." 

Bob  promptly  answered  the  summons,  and  was 
immediately  installed  as  overseer  and  general 
factotum  of  "Cap'n  Rue's"  dominions. 

Pike  was  glad  to  visit  the  children  of  his  be- 
loved friends,  but  he  refused  to  make  his  home 
with  them,  as  he  had  refused  the  invitation  of 
their  father.  He  said  that  he  "hadn't  never 
Tarnt  the  ways  of  the  old  settle??? ^72/5,"  adding 
that  he  "felt  freer  and  nigher  God  when  he 
could  study  his  will  in  the  woods,  and  the  hills, 
and  the  plains,  whar  it  was  writ  for  the  dumb 
critters,  and  the  men  He  had  called  to  smooth 
the  rough  places  and  make  the  jmtlis  straight 
fur  the  comin'  of  his  Gospel." 

So  after  a  short  visit  the  maimed  missionnry 
took  leave  of  his  friend's  children  and  his  old 
comrade.  He  went  back  to  his  work  among  the 
outlaws  and  savages  of  the  border. 

The  Osages  and  the  Pawnees,   even    the  wild 


^'IPSOJUREr  265 

Comanches,  wlio  had  tortured  liim  until  lie  was 
but  a  wreck  of  the  strong  man  they  had  known 
as  a  '^  great  brave  and  a  mighty  hunter,"  gave  him 
a  cordial  welcome.  Warrior  after  warrior  would 
come  with  stately  dignity  to  the  lodge- door 
when  the  village  dogs  barked  their  recognition 
and  the  children  shouted  the  coming  of  ' '  the 
crippled  chief  who  had  come  alive  out  of  the 
fire  to  bring  the  messages  of  the  Great  Spirit  to 
his  red  children." 

The  Indian  women  forgot  the  heaviness  of 
labor  and  the  pains  of  unassisted  travail  in  their 
generous  eagerness  to  add  something  to  the 
simple  fare  they  put  before  this  beloved  guest. 

Pike's  martja^dom  had  won  him  the  freedom  of 
the  forest  and  an  influence  for  good  with  tribes 
and  peoples  that  can  never  be  fully  reckoned 
until  the  last  day,  when  he  shall  stand,  with 
his  '^  sheaves  in  his  hand,"  face  to  face  with  the 
great  Teacher  \\\\o  called  him  to  bring  into  the 
fold  the  lost  sheep  of  the  mountains  and  the 
desert.  Unlettered  in  the  teachings  of  this 
world,  unlearned  in  the  dogmas  of  schools  and 
creeds,  not  by  the  installation  of  churchmen  or 
the  laying-on  of  hands  was  he  made  a  help  and 
a  light  to  the  poor  and  the  needy.     The  still, 


20G  THE  3I0DERN  HAGAR. 

small  voice  had  called  liim  tliroiigli  God's  work- 
ing in  his  own  heart,  and  the  way  of  life  had 
been  revealed  to  him  in  the  law  of  love  as  it 
rnled  the  life  of  Leszinksky. 

Carson  sent  Bob  to  Pike  with  a  message. 

Bob  heard  of  Pike  first  at  the  Seminole  vil- 
lage ;  he  had  just  left  there  to  visit  a  tribe  in  the 
Wichita  Hills.  At  the  crossing  of  the  Washita 
that  evening  Bob  found  him.  Carson' s  fears  and 
needs,  as  he  had  told  them  to  Bob,  were  told  to 
Pike. 

''Yes,  Bob,  I'll  go.  It's  fur  the  sake  of  the 
child  of  our  old  loo  tenant.  I  darsn't  refuse  to 
go.  The  Lord' s  put  it  upon  me.  I  ain'  t  a  bit  o' 
trouble  in  my  mind  about  the  right  on  it." 

Bob's  message  had  been  given,  and  the  consent 
was  instantaneous.  The  simple,  receptive  mind 
understood  tlie  call :  "The  Master  hath  need  of 
thee." 

Eue,  without  knowing  the  cause  of  his  coming 
or  the  solicitude  of  her  friends,  gave  Pike  the 
kindest  and  warmest  of  welcomes. 

Carson  could  now  sum  up  his  defensive  force 
with  a  feeling  of  content  and  satisfaction.  Pike, 
Bob,  and  Oscar  were  of  tried  devotion. 

Tlie  negroes  on  the  place  were  the  most  faith- 


fill  of  the  old  family  servants.  Carson  was  sure 
tliat  in  reconsidering  his  first  decision  to  em- 
ploy a  detective  he  had  done  well.  Pike  and  Bob 
were  more  trustw^orthy. 

Before  these  arrangements  were  perfected  or 
Bob  had  returned  with  Pike,  late  one  afternoon 
the  young  West  Point  cadet  arrived  at  "The 
Cedars"  from  Cape  May,  w^here  he  had  gone 
with  his  Philadelphia  comrade  to  see  Steenie. 

Mrs.  Hartley  was  in  Richmond,  Carson  was 
out  in  the  grounds,  and  Molly  had  gone  to  her 
room  with  Daisy. 

Rue  had  tea  brought  out  on  the  piazza.  She 
told  the  boy — he  was  yet  but  a  boy — of  the  Caris- 
brookes'  departure,  of  his  father,  and  of  Molly  and 
the  children  while  the  servant  w^aited  ;  but  when 
Mead  had  gone  with  the  tea-things  she  asked  : 

"  Was  Steenie  looking  quite  well  ? " 

''!No,  and  yes;  she  is  looking  wonderfnlly 
pretty,  but  there  is  a  change  in  the  '  Humming- 
bird' that  I  do  not  understand.  I  presume  I 
scarcely  realize  that  she  is  no  longer  a  child.  H 
it  is  not  an  indiscretion  I  would  like  to  ask  you 
a  question,  Rue." 

*'Ask  it;  a  wise  cousin's  question  could  not 
well  be  indiscreet." 


2G8  TEE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

**That  handsome  dandy,  Bradnor,  was  con- 
stantly in  attendance  upon  Steenie ;  and  when- 
ever I  hear  from  you  he  always  is  or  has  been 
at  '  The  Cedars.'     Is  he  engaged  to  Steenie  ? " 

*'No."  The  answer  was  sharp  and  decided; 
but  the  boy,  watching  her  face,  saw  no  change 
there  except  a  slight  quiver  in  the  lines  about 
the  mouth. 

"I  see  you  are  not  in  love  with  him.  Rue  ;  but 
I  am  very  much  afraid  that  Steenie  is.  She  has 
eyes  and  ears  for  no  one  else,  which  rather 
touches  my  vanity.  It  is  so  long  since  those  old 
days  when  we  were  always  together,  I  suppose 
she  has  forgotten  them." 

"That  is  merely  a  jealous  deception  of  your 
vanity,  Stan  " 

**Am  I  jealous?" 

"Yes;  you  always  were.  You  used  to  be 
jealous  of  my  love  for  Steenie.  Now,  Stan,  it  is 
of  Steenie' s  impossible  suitor." 

"Not  at  all  impossible.  I  watched  the  fellow 
closely ;  and,  to  convince  you  that  it  is  not  jeal- 
ousy, I  will  tell  you  that  what  most  offended  me 
was  the  change  in  his  manner  to  Steenie  when 
Miss  Esmond  or  Miss  Warrington  were  present. 
It  was  then  a  teasing,  bantering  manner,  an  effort 


"IPSO  JURE."  2C9 

to  treat  her  as  a  child — a  manner  that  annoyed 
Steenie ;  it  always  brought  burning  red  spots 
into  her  cheeks.  If  Steenie  is  ill,  Rue.  that  fel- 
low is  partly,  if  not  altogether,  the  cause.  I  am 
telling  you  honestly,  Rue,  what  I  believe.  I  am 
sure  Steenie  loves  him.  I  did  not  mean  to  give 
you  all  my  reasons,  but  your  incredulous  look  is 
a  challenge  ;  besides,  I  only  waited  to  ask  you  if 
they  were  engaged  before — as  you  tell  me  they 
are  not  engaged,  I  will  teach  the  fellow  to  mend 
his  manners." 

*'  Stan,  you  are  altogether  wrong.  It  is  a  mis- 
take." 

"Rue,  I  saw  their  parting  the  evening  before 
I  left  Cape  May.  I  was  in  the  parlor  waiting  for 
Steenie  when  she  and  Bradnor  came  to  the  win- 
dow which  opens  upon  the  veranda.  I  started 
to  meet  them  when  I  heard  Bradnor  say,  '  I 
shall  say  good-by  here,  my  darling,'  and  he 
took  Steenie  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  She 
came  in  and  passed  me  without  seeing  me — she 
was  blinded  by  her  tears.  She  is  to  me  a  sister. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  follow  him,  but  I 
thought  they  might  be  engaged.  I  knew  he  had 
been  very  kind  to  Uncle  Stan  and  to  you." 

She  could  not  tell  him  she  was  herself  engaged 


;>70  THE  MODERS  HAUAR. 

to  Bradnor,  and  yet  the  reticence  seemed  un- 
fair.    Suddenly  he  asked : 

' '  Is  that  my  father  out  there  under  that  clump 
of  cedars — there  to  the  right  of  the  avenue  ?" 

'^  No.  You  are  losing  your  sight,  Stan.  I  did 
not  think  West  Point  would  so  ruin  a  frontiers- 
man's eyes.     That  is  Oscar." 

"I  could  not  see  the  face,  and  he  has  a  sol- 
dierly figure.  What  a  prett}^  effect  the  red  tint 
of  the  evening  gives  as  it  creeps  under  the  dai-k 
cedars  !  It  reminds  me  of  the  sunsets  at  Bouie'  s 
Hill." 

There  was  a  faint  "Halloo!"  over  in  the 
grounds  toward  the  river.  The  figure  under  the 
trees  bounded  out  in  the  open  and  ran  rapidly 
down  the  sloping  sward.  They  saw  him  jump  a 
fence  and  cross  the  wavy  pasture-field,  then  he 
vanished  behind  the  woods  that  fringed  the  river- 
bank. 

"Could  that  be  my  father  calling?  What  is 
wrong  1  Oscar  ran  like  a  stag  which  seeks 
cover." 

"  It  is  nothing.  You  forget  we  are  not  on  the 
frontier." 

"  I  wish  we  were  on  the  frontier,  Rue  ;  I  like 
best  the  life  of  the  woods.     I  wish  we  were  living 


''IPSO  JUREr  271 

in  the  Wichita  Hills.  I  have  never  seen  any- 
thing so  beautiful  as  tliat  enchanting  valley  of 
the  '  Three  Mountains.'  I  am  more  than  half 
Indian,  Rue.  When  I  think  of  my  grandfather, 
of  his  brave,  life-long  fight  with  such  odds 
against  him,  of  his  death  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
I  am  altogether  a  Seminole." 

Both  were  silent ;  then  the  boy's  voice  changed 
from  the  ring  of  defiance  to  a  low,  caressing  tone 
as  he  took  Rue's  hand  and  carried  it  to  his  lips. 

"But  for  you.  Rue,  I  would  never  have  left 
my  mother's  peoi^le.  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you. 
Rue,  until  I  could  bring  you  some  proof  that  I 
came  from  a  race  of  warrior-kings,  some  deed 
of  valor  or  devotion  that  would  have  won  me  a 
distinctive  title  in  the  lodges  of  my  people— a 
title  which  would  have  given  me  the  right  to  tell 
the  daughter  of  Leszinksky  that  I  love  her.  I 
do  not  know  when  I  have  not  loved  you.  Rue  ;  I 
have  had  but  two  thoughts  all  my  life — you  and 
my  mother's  people.  To  please  you  I  listened 
to  my  father's  pleading  and  accepted  a  position 
which,  without  thought  of  you  as  reward,  the 
grandson  of  Coacoochee  would  have  spurned. 
But  now  that  I  have  told  you  this,  Mng-ah- 
shaw-na-qui-ta,  tell  me  what   I  can  do  to  win 


272  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

you.  For  life  is  notliing  if  I  may  not  always 
turn  to  one  star.  The  light  of  my  life,  my 
proud,  brave  Rue,  daughter  of  kings,  is  the 
light  of  your  eyes — soft,  tender,  beautiful  eyes, 
yet  I  have  seen  the  light  of  battle  flash  in  them. 
I  have  always  loved  you,  my  Princess,  though  I 
never  knew  what  my  worship  meant  until  we 
were  separated  for  so  long.  Then  I  thought  over 
every  day  of  our  happy  childhood,  and  I  knew 
that  my  love,  the  one  true,  passionate,  eternal 
love,  sprang  into  life  when  I  stood  beside  my 
dead  mother,  desperate  and  hopeless,  until  I 
looked  up  and  saw  you,  my  darling  !  From  that 
instant  my  life  and  my  love  were  yours.  What 
will  you  do  vdth  them.  Rue  ?  " 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kiss- 
ed him  again  and  again,  not  passionately — he 
felt  it  was  not  love — but  with  a  strong  outburst 
of  grief. 

"  O  Stan !  O  my  cousin !  I  love  you,  Stan  !  I 
love  you  dearly.  How  shall  I  refuse  your  love  ? 
How  shall  I  tell  you?" 

"What?" 

And  he  held  her  back  from  him  and  looked 
into  her  eyes. 

^ '  Stan !     Stan  !      You    were    mistaken    about 


"IPSO  JTJREr  273 

Steenie :  it  is  I  who  am  to  marry  Colonel  Brad- 
nor,  not  Steenie.  O  Stan  !  I  liacl  always  thouglit 
some  day  to  give  yon  Steenie." 

^'Farewell,  Rne !  My  darling,  my  lost  love, 
good-by ! " 

Oscar  did  not  go  directly  to  the  point  which 
the  sonnd  indicated. 

He  had  seen  General  Carson  in  the  low,  sedgy 
stretch  of  delta  formed  by  a  creek  which  flowed 
for  some  distance  behind  the  wooded  bluff  on  the 
James  that  formed  the  southwestern  boundary 
of  ^*  The  Cedars." 

A  moment  before  the  call  came  Oscar  saw  a 
man  run  across  a  cleared  field  which  extended 
from  the  marshy  delta  to  the  edge  of  the  wood 
that  scantily  fringed  the  uneven  swells  of  the 
low,  rising  hills  into  which  the  bluff  was  broken 
by  the  abrupt  curve  of  the  river. 

Taking  Carson's  shout  as  a  warning  not  to  let 
the  person  escape,  Oscar  ran  toAvard  a  point 
where  he  believed  he  could  intercept  the  fugitive, 
who  would  have  to  make  a  sharp  ascent  of  the 
high  bluff  commanding  the  bank  of  the  river 
above  the  curve. 

In  the  crafts  of  the  woodsman  and  the  runner 


274  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Oscar's  judgment  was  rarely  at  fault.  He  did 
arrive  first.  He  heard  the  snapping  of  twigs 
which  broke  in  the  grasp  of  the  tired  climber ; 
then  he  heard  the  panting  breath  of  the  man  who 
was  breaking  the  twigs.  Keeping  under  the 
shelter  of  the  undergrowth,  he  waited. 

As  he  gained  the  summit  the  man  was  looking 
back  at  Carson.  Unfortunately  Carson  had  kept 
on  the  narrow  bank,  beneath  the  heights,  until  it 
suddenly  ended,  and  he  was  forced  to  go  back 
some  distance  before  he  could  climb  the  bluff. 
This  had  given  the  fugitive  time.  With  one 
more  glance  at  Carson,  as  if  he  wished  to  doubly 
assure  himself  that  the  distance  was  safe,  he  sat 
down  to  rest. 

Oscar  could  now  see  the  man's  features  dis- 
tinctly.    It  was  Hartley's  old  servant,  Marten. 

For  three  or  four  minutes  there  was  neither 
motion  nor  sound  save  the  swashing  of  the  water 
as  it  struck  the  rounded  point  it  was  slowly 
wearing  away,  and  the  long-drawn  breaths  of 
the  man  who  was  watching  for  the  approach  of 
his  pursuer. 

Rising,  Marten  took  from  his  pocket  a  pon- 
iard. He  pulled  it  from  its  sheath,  muttering  as 
he  examined  the  point : 


''IPSO  JUREr  275 

"  If  he  forces  me  to  it  Fll  kill  him.  I've  lost 
my  chance  of  seeing  the  girl,  so  I'd  as  well  stick 
to  Hartley." 

Oscar  had  left  the  shelter  of  the  bushes  and 
was  almost  upon  Marten  when  he  looked  up. 
As  they  clinched  the  negro's  hand  was  badly 
cut,  but  he  had  Marten  by  the  throat  and  had 
forced  him  to  drop  the  dagger.  Then  he  thiew^ 
him  face  downward,  and  kneeled  upon  his  back 
to  23inion  him  to  the  ground  while  he  searched 
for  the  weapon.  Failing  to  lind  it  in  the  dim  twi- 
light, he  lifted  Marten  by  the  back  of  the  collar 
and  waistband  and  carried  him  to  the  extreme 
point  where  the  blutf  hung  over  the  river.  The 
man  writhed  and  twisted  like  a  serpent  in  his  ef- 
fort to  grasp  the  enemy  who  held  him  aloft,  re- 
lentless as  fate.  There  was  a  swinging  to  and  fro 
to  give  the  needed  impetus  ;  then,  as  if  from  a 
catapiilt.  Marten  was  thrown  far  out  into  the 
whirling  curve  of  the  waters,  which  were  going 
out  with  the  tide  to  the  sea. 

Carson,  climbing  the  ascent,  heard  a  frightful 
mingling  of  prayers  and  imprecations  ;  wlien  he 
arrived,  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  that  terrible 
act  of  vengeance. 

'^Good  God,  Oscar!  you  have  killed  him." 


276  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

*' Yes,  Marse  Carson,  I've  paid  his  'count  fur 
the  massiker  tliar  at  Bouie's  Hill  and  the  old 
debt  that's  been  a-waitin'  ever  since  them  daj^s 
when  he  used  to  come  to  my  cabin  on  business 
for  the  devil,  his  master.  It's  alius  been  borne 
in  on  my  mind  that  I'd  get  a  chance  at  Cap' a 
Hartley  yet,  and  now  I'm  'most  sure  of  it.  The 
Lord  'ill  dMiver  him  into  my  hands,  like  he  did 
that  murderous  lioun'.  Lucy's  debt  ain't  paid, 
and  my  Marse  Stan's  chile  ain't  safe  while  that 
head  devil  is  out  o'  hell.  I  know  it,  sir  ;  Fse 
alius  looked  fur  it :  Til  kill  him  yet." 

While  lie  was  talking  he  was  on  his  knees 
searching  again  for  the  weapon.  At  length, 
having  found  it,  he  came  with  it  to  Carson. 

''Here  it  is,  sir;  and  here  is  the  sheath  that 
he  dropped  when  he  saw  me." 

''Whatisitr' 

*'  The  knife  he  cut  me  with — the  knife  he  tuck 
out  when  he  was  waitin'  here  fur  you,  sir." 

After  further  question  Carson  knew  that  Oscar 
would  come  unharmed  out  of  a  trial.  A  case  of 
self-defence  could  be  made,  if  Oscar  would  only 
be  silent  as  to  the  hatred  grown  out  of  the  past. 
They  went  on  to  the  house,  and  Carson's  last  di- 
rection to  Oscar  was  to  sav  notliino-  of  the  occur- 


''IPSO  JURE,"  27? 

rence  for  the  present,  but  to  search  the  river- 
bank  early  in  the  morning  for  the  boat  in  which 
he  was  sure  Marten  had  come  to  "  The  Cedars." 

After  a  night's  reflection  Carson  determined  to 
leave  any  discovery  of  Marten's  fate  to  chance. 
If  the  Walters  cast  him  ashore  it  would  be  time 
enough  to  tell  the  stor}^  of  Oscar's  throwing  an 
armed  assailant  and  marauder  into  the  river. 
The  secret  \^Q\)t  would  leave  Hartley  uneasy. 
The  slight  pressure  of  an  imaginary  screw 
might  force  him  to  return  the  papers. 

Carson  had  already  written  a  request  for  the 
papers,  which  was  also  a  plain  and  positive  ex- 
pression of  certain  beliefs  he  entertained  not  pe- 
culiarly flattering  to  Hartley.  He  now  supple- 
mented that  letter  with  a  second  epistle,  in  which 
he  made  a  fresh  avowal  of  his  ''beliefs,  not  mere- 
ly predicated  upon  suspicion,  but  based  upon  ir- 
refutable proofs  now  in  secure  custody ^  He 
weighed  every  word  with  the  precision  of  a  jurist. 
Without  saying  it  he  wished  Hartley  to  infer 
that  he  held  Marten,  who,  either  willingly  or  un- 
willingly, had  betrayed  his  master. 

After  writing  this  verj'  satisfactory  and  fulmi- 
natory letter  Carson  went  out  in  the  grounds  in 
the  early  morning  to  look  for  Oscar  and  to  charge 


278  TUB  MODERN  HAGAR. 

him  to  hold  his  peace  about  "the  accident  on 
the  bluff,"  which  Oscar  was  very  willing  to  do. 
In  truth,  the  negro's  conscience  was  either  so  dull 
or  it  so  entirely  justified  him  that  it  left  him  un- 
disturbed about  consequences  and  utterly  regard- 
less of  himself  in  the  matter  of  Marten's  death. 
In  fact,  by  a  different  train  of  thought  he  had 
come  to  Carson's  conclusion,  that  to  entrap  Hart- 
ley the  "accident,  as  Marse  Carson  called  it," 
had  better  be  kept  secret  for  the  present. 

In  this  serene  state  of  fancied  security  I  will 
leave  them  w^hile  I  follow  the  young  cadet,  whose 
visit  Rue  had  not  yet  found  it  convenient  to 
mention. 

He  left  the  house  unseen  by  any  of  the  i)eoi:)le 
of  the  place ;  in  fact,  only  Rue  and  Mead  knew 
of  his  arrival.  That  night  Mead  had  orders  from 
his  mistress  to  forget  the  fact. 

The  young  cadet  w^alked  ra^iidly  down  the  ave- 
nue. At  first  he  thought  to  go  directly  to  the 
station  from  which  he  had  walked  to  "The  Ce- 
dars." Then,  remembeiing  that  his  luggage  had 
gone  on  to  Richmond  to  be  left  at  the  Ex- 
change, and  that  his  father  would  probably  be 
in  town  the  next  day  and  hear  of  his  so  speedily 
terminated  visit,  he  turned  from  the  avenue  to- 


"/p>s'0  jure:'  279 

ward  the  point  from  wliicli  lie  had  heard  his 
fathers  "Halloo!" 

He  would  rather  have  avoided  the  meeting  just 
then,  but  he  thought  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  leave  Richmond,  or  even  the  x)lantation, 
without  being  recognized.  Keither  did  he  fore- 
see the  assistance  he  would  receive  in  the  orders 
given  to  Mead. 

He  had  crossed  the  brook  that  environed  the 
lawn,  and  Avas  walking  in  the  woods  which  skirt- 
ed the  left  of  the  open  fields  between  the  house 
grounds  and  the  swam]3y  delta  of  the  "bluff 
creek." 

Every  stej)  in  the  direction  of  his  father  had 
increased  the  boy' s  reluctance  to  meet  him  and 
tell  the  story  of  his  rejection. 

He  had  stopi)ed  for  an  instant  to  reflect  upon 
the  chances  of  getting  to  Richmond  and  leaving 
there  that  night.  He  was  just  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  and  close  to  a  little  channel,  the  eastern 
mouth  of  the  creek,  which  he  could  see  ran  into 
the  James.  JSTot  five  yards  distant  a  small  row- 
boat  was  pulled  up  under  the  low-hanging 
boughs  of  the  willows. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  thinking  it  a 
fortunate  issue  out  of  a  dilemma,  young  Carson 


^80  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

13iished  the  boat  out  into  the  water,  and  after 
five  minutes'  steady  rowing  was  out  in  the 
James. 

Just  then  the  whistle  of  a  locomotive  across 
the  wide  river,  and  the  slacking  up  of  a  long 
train  which  was  in  full  view,  showed  him  an  un- 
suspected and  speedy  route  to  Richmond.  He 
could  cross  the  river  by  rowing  up  to  the  point, 
and  then  float  with  the  current  until  lie  gradu- 
ally traversed  it  and  reached  the  station  on  the 
opposite  shore. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

"  O  Dis  ! 
Why  is  this  mortal  here  ?  " 

ALL  these  different  efforts  at  concealment  were 
successful  in  different  measures  and  ways. 
Carson's  met  him  in  the   morning  in  a 
mystery  he  could  not  unravel,  but  which  filled 
his  laboring  soul  with  fresh  anxiety. 

There  had  been  a  boat,  but  it  was  gone. 

He  would  not  believe  Oscar,  and  he  scarcely 
believed  his  eyes  when  he  saw  where  it  had  been 
hidden,  and  saw  also  the  tracks  in  the  red  clay, 
hardened  by  the  morning  sun,  of  the  man  who 
had  pushed  it  back  in  the  channel.  All  the  way 
from  the  house  to  the  hiding-place  under  the  wil- 
lows he  had  argued  tlie  point  with  himself  :  "It 
must  have  been  stolen  by  some  negro  who  was 
prowling  around  in  the  niglit." 

That  it  was  the  boat  which  had  brought  Mar- 
ten to  "  The  Cedars''  he  never  doubted. 

But  who  could  have  taken  it  away  ? 

Had  Marten  a  confederate  ? 

281 


282  THE  MODERN  HAG  AH, 

When  Carson  saw  tlie  tracks  of  the  slender 
boots  with  the  pointed  toes  and  the  high  instep, 
he  knew  it  couki  be  no  negro' s  feet  that  had  left 
their  imprint  in  the  clay. 

But  Avhose  ?    Hartley' s  ? 

The  suggestion  was  so  bewildering  that  he  left 
Oscar  with  strict  orders  '"^to  stay  about  the  house 
armed  with  revolver  and  derringei's  until  his  re- 
turn from  Eichmond,  wIktg  he  must  go  at  once." 
He  impressed  upon  Molly  in  such  mysterious 
langua^ge  the  necessity  of  her  not  losing  sight  of 
Rue  for  an  instant  during  liis  a])sence  that  he 
left  her  in  a  mild  state  of  doubt  betwixt  his 
sanity  and  Rue's. 

Molly  was  rather  inclined  to  think  Rue  the 
lunatic,  for  Rue  had  acted  very  strangely  the 
previous  evening.  Molly  had  left  Rue  alone, 
as  she  thought,  on  the  piazza  while  she  was  giv- 
ing Daisy  her  bath  and  putting  her  to  sleep,  and 
then  when  she  asked  for  her  hostess  she  heard 
of  a  headache  Avliich  had  sent  Rue  to  her  room. 

That  afternoon  Rue  had  seemed  unusually 
well. 

Further  inquiry  did  not  enlighten  Molly.  The 
housekeeper  had  "  sent  tea  to  Miss  Rue  and  she 
had  eaten  heartily."     In  fact,  that  morning  the 


''IPSO  JURE."  283 

liotisekeeper  had  questioned  Mead  as  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  Miss  Rue  having  finished  a  cold  chick- 
en and  certain  dainties.  To  defend  his  truthful- 
ness Mead  had  called  in  his  mistress.  ''Yes  ;  she 
had  all  those  things." 

Then  Molly  concluded  Rue's  headache  was  a 
deserved  indigestion,  while  her  graver  doubts  on 
the  sanity  question  again  vibrated  from  Hue  to 
her  husband. 

"  General  Carson  " — Molly  was  a  martinet  and 
always  gave  her  husband  his  title — "certainly 
seemed  queer  last  night ;  come  to  think  of  it, 
ever  since  his  return  from  that  sudden  journey 
to  New  York  he  Las  been  queer." 

It  would  liave  been  imx)ossible  for  Molly  to 
have  used  a  more  accusative  Avord  than  queer. 
In  fact,  although  she  had  laughed  at,  she  had 
half -adopted,  the  belief  of  one  of  her  old  Vir- 
ginian grandaunts  :  "Better  be  wrong  than 
queer.  You  can  privately  repent  and  amend  if 
you  are  wrong,  or  you  can  conceal  it,  my  dear ; 
but  if  you  are  queer  it  is  patent  to  sight,  and  the 
world  never  forgives  Avhat  it  is  forced  to  see." 

This  queerness  of  Carson's  disturbed  Molly. 

Having  to  defend  Mead  from  accusation,  and 
virtually   confess  herself    a  gourmande^    would 


284  "i^JIE  MO D?JRX  HA  OA  7?. 

liave  ordinarily  only  moved  Rue  to  laughter. 
But  she,  too,  had  something  to  conceal.  She 
half-regretted  the  orders  she  had  given  Mead  to 
say  nothing  of  the  cadet's  arrival  and  departure  ; 
but  now  what  exi^lanation  could  she  make  ? 
And  she  knew  that  Molly  and  Carson  would 
both  ask  questions.  "If  Cousin  Kate  wxre  here 
she  would  understand  without  words  ;  but  Uncle 
Billy  and  Molly  must  have  words  to  aid  under- 
standing." 

Later  in  the  day  Mead  came  to  Eue  with  a 
muddled  account  of  some  boat  that  had  been 
stolen  from  the  place,  "either  by  the  gemman 
dat  owned  it  or  else  by  somebody  whar  had 
been  up  prowlin'  'round  de  house.  Oscar  done 
tole  me  'bout  de  boat  when  he  come  askin'  me  if 
I  hadn't  seed  nobody  'round  de  place  yestedday. 
I  did  what  you  told  me,  Miss  Rue— I  said  no- 
body hadn't  been  yer." 

"  I  did  not  intend  that;  but  you  cannot  help 
it  now.  As  yon  have  gone  that  far,  do  not  go 
back.     Say  nothing  of  my  cousin  Stan." 

"  No,  marm.  Oscar  ain't  gw^ine  to  get  nothin' 
out  o'  me.'' 

So  Rue's  concealment  resulted  in  her  humilia- 
tion. 


''  IPSO  JUREr  285 

In  its  way  Oscar's  secrecy  Avas  a  success.  His 
deed  neither  troubled  nor  sliamed  him.  He  was 
as  impassive  and  undisturbed  as  an  insentient 
instrument  of  justice  would  be.  Marten  had  de- 
served death  ;  and  he,  finding  opportunity,  had 
not  taken  him  at  a  disadvantage,  but  had  execut- 
ed a  sentence  long  delayed. 

Oscar' s  only  regret  was  in  the  failure  to  find 
occasion  to  execute  another  act  of  justice  which 
was  overdue.  Yet  he  thought  opportunity^  might 
come  before  night.  He  had  taken  his  dead  mas- 
ter's derringers  from  their  cases  and  carefully 
loaded  them,  and  he  had  thrust  Marten's  i^on- 
iard  in  his  waistband.  Carson  was  somewhat 
shocked  when,  as  he  was  riding  out  of  the  gate, 
lie  turned  to  ask  Oscar  "  if  he  w^as  armed,"  and 
the  negro  coolly  showed  him  the  weapon  of  the 
man  he  had  thrown  into  the  river. 

Carson  was  in  Richmond  all  day.  After  send- 
ing the  despatch  he  came  to  town  to  send  he 
spent  the  day  at  Robert  Carisbrooke's.  They  so 
perfectly  agreed  in  their  estimate  of  Hartlej^ 
that  they  naturally  agreed  in  the  measure  Carson 
had  thought  of. 

Late  that  night  they  rode  out  to  ''  Tlie  Cedars" 
together.      No  answer  yet  to  the  cable  despatch. 


2bG  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

But  the  next  morning  the  message  came  while 
they  were  at  breakfast.  Molly's  fear  of  Carson's 
"qiieerness"  was  somewliat  relieved  w^hen  she 
saw  that  her  uncle  Robert  was  bitten  by  a  like 
mania. 

With  half-spoken  excuses  they  hurried  out 
upon  the  lawn  before  they  opened  the  de- 
spatch. It  was  from  the  American  minister  at 
Paris  : 

**  Captain  Wenner  Hartley  is  in  Paris.  Dined 
with  him  last  night." 

The  two  gentlemen  regarded  each  other  blank- 
ly. "Then  who  could  it  be?"  said  Robert  Ca- 
risbrooke.  '  *  Who  could  it  be  ?  "  echoed  Carson. 
Mead,  who  might  have  enlightened  him,  came 
running  down  the  avenue,  saying  as  he  passed  : 

''Colonel  Bradnor's  a-comin'  ;  I  seed  him  cross 
the  field.  He' s  a-ridin'  ole  Mr.  Grey' s  hoss  from 
de  station." 

Again  the  puzzled  gentlemen  looked  at  each 
other.  "Could  it  be  Bradnor  ?  "  said  Robert 
Carisbrooke.     "  Could  it  be  ?  "  echoed  Carson. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait ;  Bratlnor  sprang 
from  his  horse  and  came  directly  toward  Carson. 

"  General,  I  came  this  morning  from  Cape 
May.     Miss  Esmond  died  last  nigbt." 


''IPSO  jure:'  .-S7 

In  two  hours  Kue  was  on  her  way  to  Cape 
May  with  Bradnor  and  Carson. 

The  mansion  of  astlewood  was  still  a  charred 
ruin,  but  the  gates  of  the  ''House  of  the 
Dead"  w^ere  opened  for  the  stately  spinster 
with  whom  the  name  of  Esmond  ended  in  Vir- 
ginia. Anne  Warrington  came  home  with  Rue 
from  Castlewood. 

Steenie  had  not  gone  to  Castlewood  ;  she  said 
she  was  too  unnerved  by  the  shock  of  Miss  Es- 
mond's sudden  death.  At  Rue's  request  Colonel 
Bradnor  took  her  sister  directly  to  "The  Ce- 
dars." His  stay  at  that  time  was  short,  and 
soon  there  was  a  general  flitting. 

Anne  Warrington  lind  a  letter  from  her  rela- 
tives in  England,  beg^mg  her  to  come  home. 
Mr.  Robert  Carisbrooke  went  with  her  to  New 
York,  and,  when  she  was  on  the  Scotia,  gave 
her  a  draft  on  the  Barings  for  Ave  thousand 
pounds. 

"  It  belongs  to  you.  It  is  the  payaient  of  an 
old  debt  owing  to  the  Warringtons.  ^o,  cer- 
tainly /  do  not  give  it  to  you.  It  Avas  really 
paid  to  me  for  you.  I  give  you  my  honor  it 
is  in  no  way  a  gift  from.  meP 

Anne  still  looked  doubtingly,  but  he  had  told 


288  THE  MODERN  UAGAR. 

the  trutli.  It  was  the  old  loyal  debt  of  the  Car- 
tarets  to  the  Warringtons — the  debt  of  friend - 
shij^  which  the  heiress  of  "The  Cedars"  j^aid 
to  the  despoiled  and  homeless  descendants  of  her 
grandfather' s  friend. 

The  week  after  Anne's  departure  the  Robert 
Carisbrookes  and  Kate  started  southward. 

Bob  and  Pike  had  arrived,  and  at  Carson's  sug- 
gestion Rue  installed  Pike  in  a  great  arm-chair 
beside  the  front  door  as  hall-j)orter.  The  duty 
was  light  and  the  place  pleased  the  crippled 
giant.  He  truthfully  gave  as  reason  for  his  de- 
light the  fact  that  he  could  see  all  the  visitors 
who  came.  From  morning  till  night  he  sat  there 
pleasedly  working  the  simple  contrivance  that 
made  the  opening  easy.  His  only  exercise  was 
on  the  front  piazza,  where  at  frequent  intervals 
the  regular  beat  of  his  crutches  could  be  heard. 

Bob  let  the  plantation  work  go  loosely,  but  he 
made  an  alert  and  watchful  picket. 

Oscar  was  almost  constantly  in  the  saddle.  It 
was  strange  how  much  exercise  the  thorough- 
breds needed. 

Rue  could  not  take  a  quiet  ride  alone,  as  she 
liked  sometimes  to  do  on  the  plantation,  without 
seeing  Oscar,   on  the  most   mettlesome    of    the 


''IPSO  jure:'  289 

plunging  colts,  crossing  lier  path  and  scurrying 
through  the  lonely  woods. 

The  sisters  had  promised  to  go  with  the  Car- 
sons  to  Rosebank  at  Christmas  but  Steenie  ner- 
vously shrank  from  the  journey,  and  so  Rue  gave 
it  up. 

After  another  investment  in  cable  messages, 
Carson  at  length  consented  to  leave  the  sisters 
and  take  Molly  and  Daisy  to  see  Brooke  and 
the  "  grandparents."  He  was  compelled,  he  said, 
to  go  to  Texas  for  a  short  trip. 

The  reason  of  that  trip  was  an  open  secret. 

Stanislaus  Carson  had  resigned  from  West 
Point  and  gone  out  to  join  Coacoochee's  son, 
the  young  chief  of  the  Seminoles.  There  was 
trouble  on  the  border,  a,nd  Carson  was  anxious 
for  the  safety  of  ''Laha's  "  child. 

Before  Carson  left  ''The  Cedars"  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  the  AA^ilsons  should  spend  the  winter 
there.  Steenie' s  delicate  health  was  sufficient 
reason  for  the  invitation  and  its  acceptance. 

With  Dr.  Wilson  and  his  wife  at  ''The 
Cedars,"  and  the  watchful  and  devoted  guards- 
men, whose  duties  were  clearly  defined  and  un- 
derstood, Carson  felt  that  Rue's  safety  was  in- 
sured. 


200  THE  MODERN  II  AG  All. 

He  knew  tliat  Hartley  was  in  Paris  and  would 
not  leave  there  for  tlie  winter.  For  lie  had  se- 
cured the  services  of  an  exceedingly  intelligent 
and  trustworthy  agent,  who  kept  him  informed 
of  ev^ery  movement  of  the  man  he  thought  it 
necessary  to  watch  until  the  papers  were  restored 
and  Kate's  final  settlement  should  detach  Hart- 
ley from  all  interest  in  either  or  any  of  the  Carta- 
ret  possessions. 

Hartley  had  not  answered  Carson's  letters, 
but  he  had  written  to  Di-.  Carisbrooke  (which 
the  doctor  characterized  as  a  very  manly  and 
straightforward  declaration),  declining  to  answer 
letters  from  General  Carson  or  Mr.  Robert  Caris- 
brooke "containing  offensive  threats  and  still 
more  offensive  suspicions."  He  offered,  how- 
ever, to  meet  Dr.  Carisbrooke  in  New  York 
during  the  coming  May,  and  return  to  him  the 
papers  which  Mrs.  Hartley's  trustee  had  de- 
manded, provided  Mrs.  Hartley  would  relinquish 
all  present  or  future  rights  in  his  estate. 

Dr.  Carisbrooke  urged  the  acceptance  of  this 
proposition;  and  as  Kate  also  insisted,  Mr.  Robert 
Carisbrooke  consented  and  it  was  so  arranged. 

The  waters  in  which  Marten  had  gone  down 
had  cast  no   evidence   ashore,   and   Carson   con- 


^'IPSO  JUREr  291 

gratulated  himself  upon  Ms  discretion  in  keep- 
ing that  secret.  In  truth,  he  had  but  few  regrets 
for  the  '' accident."  He  regarded  it  more  as  an 
indiscretion  than  a  crime.  Oscar  had  simj)!}^  an- 
ticipated a  decision  which  law  Avould  have  given 
if  law  had  cognition  of  the  facts. 

' '  It  would  have  been  well  for  the  fellow  to  be 
hanged,"  Carson  thought ;  but  then  he  was  con- 
tent with  the  easier  death,  because  the  drowning 
left  Hartley  in  ignorance  of  his  familiar's  fate. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

"  Ho  next  had  the  r/rande  passion,  and  narrowly  escaped  manying  nn 
heiress  of  great  expectations  and  a  countless  number  of  chateaux." 

CHRISTMAS  at  "The  Cedars"  was  a  dreary 
day.  The  Carsons  were  gone,  and  a  messen- 
ger had  come  at  daylight  for  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Wilson.  Mrs.  Wilson' s  mother  was  very  ill ;  of 
course  they  must  go. 

The  doctor  kneAV  nothing  of  any  danger  threat- 
ening Rue,  and  Steenie  seemed  better  since  the 
house  was  so  quiet.  His  only  uneasiness  was  for 
his  wife.  The  sudden  ill  news  and  the  drive  to 
town  in  a  do\\Tipour  of  rain  Avere  serious  trials  to 
a  delicate  invalid.  Rue  assisted  in  the  prepara- 
tions for  Mrs.  Wilson's  comfort;  and  wlien,  as 
they  were  leaving,  the  doctor  begged  her  to  let 
him  send  some  of  her  friends  out  from  Richmond 
to  stay  until  their  return,  she  declined,  saying : 

' '  No,  we  are  very  well  protected  ;  and  I  could 
not  ask  any  one  to  brave  such  weather  unless 
there  was  some  absolute  necessity.  Only  think 
of  Mrs.  Wilson  !    We  will  do  very  well.     I  shall 


"IPSO  JUIiB."  293 

send  you  news  from  here  every  day  until  you 
come  home." 

In  the  afternoon  came  a  telegram  from  Brad- 
nor  saying  he  would  "arrive  at  the  station  near 
'The  Cedars'  on  the  late  train  from  Washing- 
ton." 

Eue  gave  orders  to  Oscar  to  send  to  the  sta- 
tion, and  then  went  to  tell  the  news  to  Steenie. 

After  searching  the  house  she  found  her  sister 
lying  on  a  lounge  before  the  library  fire. 

The  girl's  arms  were  crossed  under  her  head, 
and  the  heavy  mass  of  her  loose  hair  brought 
into  full  relief  the  delicate,  pale  face  and  the  thin, 
attenuated  hands.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  portrait  of  her  father  over  the  chimney-piece. 
Something  in  the  pose  suggested  hopeless  suf- 
fering. Rue's  eyes  followed  her  sister's  to  the 
face  of  their  father,  and  the  thought  of  the 
day  he  brought  the  child  to  her  in  Philadelphia 
gave  a  strange  significance  to  Steenie' s  attitude. 
"  She  will  have  no  one  but  you,  Rue  ;  I  know  I 
can  trust  her  to  you,  my  daughter."  The  words 
were  in  her  ears  as  she  spoke  to  Steenie : 

"  Are  you  ill,  little  sister  ?  " 

As  Rue  touched  her  the  girl  buried  her  liead  in 
the  clasped  hands  and  clustering  hair,  which  she 


294  THE  MODERN  JIAGAR. 

hastily  drew  over  her  face.  Then,  when  Rue 
knelt  beside  her,  she  burst  into  long-drawn,  shiv- 
ering sobs. 

''■  Steenie  !  my  darling  !  can  you  not  trust  me  ? 
There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  you,  little 
sister — nothing."  Steenie' s  arms  were  around 
her,  and  the  sobs  were  x)itiful  gasps. 

''  O  Steenie,  Steenie,  tell  me  !  What  can  I  do  ? 
Do  you  not  know,  do  you  not  believe,  that  I  love 
you  better  than  any — than  all  the  world  ?  Our 
father  gave  you  to  me,  little  sister.  You  are  mine 
— my  own  precious  gift,  the  dearest  care  I  have 
on  earth.  I  promised  our  father  that  I  would 
care  for  your  happiness  above  all  else.  Will 
you  not  let  me  keep  my  promise,  little  sister? 
O  Steenie  !  trust  me.  Believe  me  and  trust  in 
me.  I  would  give  you  my  life — but  that  is  nothing 
to  give — I  would  give  you  all  that  life  is  or  that  it 
can  bring  me  to  save  you  from  pain  or  grief." 

Rue  was  kneeling  beside  her  sister,  kissiog  her 
hair,  her  hands,  her  brow,  when  the  door  opened 
and  Mammy  Sara  entered.  "Go  to  the  dining- 
room,  Mammy  Sara,  and  wait  there." 

"No!  no!"  gasped  Steenie.  "I  want  Mam- 
my Sara.  O  Mammy  !  take  me  to  my  room.'' 
The  negro  woman  lifted  the  girl  to  her  feet,  and, 


''IPSO  jure:'  295 

holding  her  arms  about  her,  led  her  from  the 
room  after  giving  a  reproachful  look  to  Eue, 
who  stood  silently  aside  to  let  them  pass. 

As  the  figures  vanished  behind  the  closing 
door  Kue  turned  and  looked  long  and  steadily 
at  her  father's  portrait.  She  was  half  interro- 
gating the  picture  in  her  thoughts:  "Why  did 
she  look  so  appealingly  to  you  ?  Am  I  in  fault  % 
Is  it  anything  I  have  done  ?  Is  there  anything 
I  can  do?"  She  sank  into  the  place  Steenie 
had  left,  and  tried  with  closest  attention  to  go 
over  the  day — the  past  day — every  incident  in 
the  weeks  since  Steenie  returned  from  Cape 
May.  Suddenly  Stanislaus  Carson's  misunder- 
standing about  Bradnor  came  to  her  recollection. 
"Could  it  be  that?  Could  Stan  have  judged 
Steenie' s  heart  more  truly  than  I  have  done? " 

There  was  fresh  interruption.  Mammy  Sara 
came  with  a  scrawl  from  Steenie : 

"Dear  sister,  do  not  w^orry  about  me;  I  am 
only  nervous  and  unreasonable.  But  I  do  wish 
to  beg  a  favor.  Please  let  me  go  to  town  to- 
morrow to  the  convent?  The  sisters  will  take 
me  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  do  me 
good.  Please,  sister,  let  me  go,  and  do  not  no- 
tice my  humors.     Lovingly,  Steenie." 


296  THE  MODERN  BAG  AH. 

Rue  looked  up  from  the  reading  to  Mammy 
Sara.  Something  she  saw  in  her  old  nurse's  face 
convinced  her  that  Mammy  Sara  had  the  key  to 
the  mystery. 

"Mammy,  Steenie  and  I  are  your  children. 
Since  I  lost  my  mother  you  are  the  only  mother 
I  have  known.  You  know  how  I  loved — how  I 
still  love  and  honor— my  father  s  memory.  You 
can  and  you  must  tell  me  what  is  grieving  my 
sister.  I  promised  him  to  care  first  for  my 
sister." 

"She's  jes'  breakin'  her  heart,  an'  I  thought 
hard  o'  you.  Miss  Rue — I  did,  honey — 'cause  you 
oughtn't  fo  have  dat  chile  here  whar  Marse 
Bradnor  is ;  if  you's  a-goin'  to  marry  him  she's 
jes'  try  in'  to  die  and  get  outen  yo'  way." 

"Out  of  my  way?  I  would  give  my  life  for 
her  hap23iness." 

"Yes,  dat's  jes'  it ;  that's  jes'  whar  de  trouble 
is  :  she  knows  if  you  thought  she  loved  Marse 
Bradnor  you  wouldn'  t  marry  him  nohow.  An' 
you  see  if  you  did  dat,  Miss  Rue,  you'd  do  mo' 
harm 'an  good.  You  know  how  sens' tive  Miss 
Steenie  is,  an'  she  loves  him.  Miss  Rue,  she  does  ; 
but  she  loves  you,  and  she'd  die  'fore  she'd  take 
anything  you  wanted.'' 


^^IPSOJUREr  297 

**But  I  do  not  want  Mm,  Mammy  Sara.  I  am 
only  keeping  a  promise  to  liim  because  of  his 
kindness  to  my  father  and  because  of  my 
pledge." 

''Yes,  chile,  I  understan'  you;  and  I  under- 
stan  him  better  'an  bofe  of  you  chillen  could, 
an'  I'm  sorry  he  ever  come  to  de  i)lace.  If  Miss 
Steenie  had  de  fortune  it  would  a-been  her  al- 
ways—dat  is,  since  she's  growed  up.  She's  a 
heap  the  prettiest— I  don't  mean  to  hurt  yo'  feel- 
ins,  chile,  but  she  is— an'  dat  man  thinks  a  heap 
o'  looks  ;  he  mighty  proud  o'  his'n." 

"  Well,  Mammy  Sara,  if  she  loves  him  she 
shall  marry  him,  and  have  the  fortune,  too." 

"Now,  you  see,  Miss  Rue,  thar'tis:  dat's  jes 
yo'  way,  an'  dat's  jes'  the  way  to  make  it  all  wuss. 
You  go  fur  to  try  to  do  dat,  an'  dat's  de  las'  o' 
Miss  Steenie.  'Fore  God,  I  don't  see  no  way 
outen  dis  trouble." 

"  Do  not  tell  Steenie  what  you  have  told  me." 

* '  Lord  !  no.  Miss  Rue  ;  I  ain'  t  gwine  to  tell  her 
nothin' .  And  please.  Miss  Rue,  whatever  way  you 
manages  'bout  all  dis  troubl',  don't  tell  I  said  it, 
Miss  Rue.  She's  a-restin'  now,  an'  you  better 
leave  her  to  me  fur  to-night." 

"Tell  her  I  will  see  her  in  the  morning,  or 


298  THE  lUODERN  BAG  AH. 

sooner  if  she  wishes  to  see  me.  To-morrow  we 
will  arrange  for  her  to  go  to  Richmond,  if  she  still 
prefers  that  to  something  I  have  to  propose  to 
her  ;  but  I  had  better  write  it."  She  finished  the 
few  lines  and  dismissed  Mammy  Sara,  who  almost 
immediately  returned  with  a  message.  Steenie 
would  see  her  sister  the  next  morning  ;  she  had 
taken  a  composing  draught  the  doctor  had  left 
for  her  should  she  need  it,  and  now  Avas  trying 
to  go  to  sleep.  With  strict  directions  to  Mammy 
Sara  not  to  tell  Steenie  of  Bradnors  expected 
arrival,  the  nurse  was  sent  back  to  her  charge. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  Bradnor  arrived. 

Kue  was  waiting  in  the  library.  Their  meet- 
ings and  partings  had  always  been  ceremonious, 
never  showing  anything  of  the  joy  or  the  sweet 
pain  of  lovers. 

To-night  there  was  rather  more  of  warmth  in 
Rue's  manner  as  she  offered  her  hand  and  de- 
tained the  servant  to  ask  if  he  had  dined. 

''Yes,  he  had  dined." 

Then  tea  was  l)rought  and  they  were  alone. 
The  dialogue  across  the  tea-things  reminded  Rue 
of  the  evening  in  the  piazza  with  Stan,  and  her 
color  deepened. 

^'  I  am  glad  you  are  here  for  Christmas.     You 


''IPSO  JUREr  t^oo 

can  assist  me  in  settling  something  that  I  am 
anxious  to  do  at  once.  You  know  that  I  insist- 
ed on  postponing  our  marriage  until  Steenie 
should  come  of  age." 

"But  she  is  not  yet  of  age."  There  was  so 
evident  a  ^\q^  for  delay  in  the  voice  of  her  be- 
trothed that  Rue  maliciously  continued  : 

"  She  will  be  eighteen  next  year,  and  we  are 
within  a  week  of  1868.  With  your  consent  this 
can  be  arranged  at  once." 

"  What,  our  marriage? "  The  look  of  conster- 
nation was  so  real  that  Rue  laughed. 

' '  ISo  ;  you  can  be  easy  there.  We  are  not  to 
be  married  ever." 

He  looked  at  her  an  astonished  interrogation. 
She  went  on : 

"This  has  all  been  a  mistake." 

"  Not  at  all.  You  promised  and  I  cannot  re- 
lease you.  I  am  in  no  hurry — I  mean  I  am  will- 
ing to  wait ;  but  then  in  two  years  more  I  must 
be  married." 

' '  I  know.  You  lose  your  inheritance  if  you 
are  not  married  then  ;  and  you  must  marry  a 
woman  whose  fortune  equals  the  legacy  your 
granduncle  left  you.  It  was  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  I  believe?" 


300  THE  MODERN  IlAGAJi. 

*^Yes,  tliree  hundred  tliousand.  But  your 
fortune  exceeds  that,  and  so  does  mine  now.  I 
have  taken  good  care  of  the  money  left  me." 

"If  Steenie  had  three  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars would  you  not  prefer  Steenie  ?" 

"It  is  useless  asking  such  a  question.  I  am 
engaged  to  you.  Besides,  Steenie  has  nothing 
but  what  you  choose  to  give  her." 

"  It  is  about  that  I  wished  to  ask  you." 

"  Oh  !  w^hat  to  give  her  ?  Your  estate  is  over 
half  a  million  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  many  thousands  more." 

"Then  I  think  you  could  give  her  fifty  thou- 
sand.    That  will  be  quite  a  generous  gift." 

"You  think  that  generous.  Then  I  am  sorry 
for  my  sister.  I  fear  you  love  money  better  than 
you  love  her." 

"I  am^  very  fond  of  Steenie—"  His  manner 
changed.  He  looked  about  as  if  to  avoid  Rue's 
eyes.  Taking  up  a  magazine,  he  mechanically 
flapped  the  leaves  as  he  continued  :  "Of  course 
I  am  fond  of  Steenie  ;  but  your  fortune  is—" 

"It  is  mine  noic,  and  I  intend  to  settle  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars  upon  Steenie." 

"  Why,  that  will  be  half  of  your  estate.  You 
have  no  right  to  give  away  half  of  your  estate. 


^' IPSO  jure:'  301 

Three  hundred  thousand— why,  that  will  take 
the  Chicago  property,  which  is  increasing  in 
value  daily.  I  insist  yon  do  not  sell  the  Chicago 
property." 

*'  I  will  sell  you  what  you  like  of  the  Chicago 
property  at  its  present  valuation,  and  I  will  give 
you  a  receipt  for  payment  in  full  the  day  you 
marry  Steenie." 

"Marry  Steenie?" 

"Yes.  You  love  Steenie;  at  least  you  love 
her  as  well  as  you  love  any  one  except  your- 
self." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  think  so,  Rue." 

"Oh  !  I  have  not  been  deceived  in  you — at  least 
not  since  I  came  back  to  '  The  Cedars '  from  Can- 
ada. It  was  the  heiress  you  sought.  I  would 
have  kept  my  word  for  the  sake  of  your  past 
kindness  to  my  father ;  but  there  is  now  a  more 
important  question.  It  is  not  altogether  because 
you  prefer  Steenie,  b\it  because  Steenie  loves 
you.  She  loves  you,  and  she  is  the  heiress.  If 
three  hundred  thousand  is  not  enough,  name  the 
dot  you  think  I  should  give  her.  Some  moments 
ago  you  thought  fifty  thousand  sufficient." 

"Which  is  hardly  fair  of  you  to  say,  Rue. 
You  see  there  is  a  diiference.     I  cannot  marry 


302  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

any  one  who  has  less  than  three  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.     I  am  restricted." 

"  Yes  ;  and  because  of  that  restriction  you 
wish  the  sum  still  larger.  Well,  win  my  sister's 
consent  to  marry  you,  and  I  will  give  you  my 
note  for  four  hundred  thousand  dollars  that 
day." 

"With  the  privilege  of  purchase  of  the  Chi- 
cago i)roperty,  as  you  suggested  \ ' ' 

*' Yes,  with  that  privilege."  The  contempt  in 
her  tone  stung  him  at  last. 

"This  transfer  is  your  offer,  not  mine.  I 
would  have  kept  my  engagement." 

"Yes,  because  of  the  money.  But  I  forgive 
you  all  that,  and  I  am  really  glad  to  give  this  to 
Steenie.  But  I  beg  of  you  be  kind  and  delicate 
with  my  sister.  Leave  all  money  questions  out 
of  your  talk  with  her.  Better  say  nothing  to  her 
of  this  gift.     I  would  rather  you  did  not." 

It  dawned  upon  him  that  it  would  be  better 
every  way  to  leave  Steenie  in  ignorance  of  her 
riches.  He  would  then  have  credit  for  disin- 
terestedness and  entire  control  of  the  money ^ 
which  he  would  not  have  had  in  marrying  Rue. 
He  began  to  be  glad  and  relieved  at  the  break 
with  Rue.     Besides,  he  did  i)rcfer  Steenie  ;  and 


'*  IPSO  jure:'  303 

he  knew  that  he  had  gone  beyond  the  point  of 
discretion  in  his  attention  to  her.  Two  or  three 
people  had  asked  him  ''which  of  the  sisters  was 
his  fiancee:'  So  now  when  Rue  offered  even  a 
very  small  olive-branch  he  was  glad  to  accept  it, 
particularly  as  she  added  a  condition  that  suited 
his  views. 

''I  will  not  tell  her  of  the  gift  you  make,  if  you 
wish  her  not  to  know.  It  is  very  generous,  Eue, 
and  you  have  a  right  to  command  me  in  this.  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  I  will  not  tell  her, 
and  I  do  love  her.  You  can  trust  me.  I  will  do 
my  best  to  make  her  hap]3y." 

"Unfortunately,  her  happiness  makes  the  offer 
necessary." 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say,  because  he  did 
not  altogether  understand  whether  this  was  the 
expression  of  Rue's  regret  for  her  own  loss  or  for 
her  sisters  need.  His  vanity  persuaded  him  of 
Rue's  regret ;  but  there  was  enough  doubt  to 
keep  him  silent,  and  he  had  enough  discretion 
to  think  this  the  moment  to  seize  the  one  fact 
of  change  and  establish  his  new  position. 

"  I  will  make  her  happiness  my  study.  But  I 
trust  to  keep  your  friendship,  Rue  ;  for  Steenie's 
sake  we  must  be  friends.'' 


304  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

''Yes;  we  must,  for  Steenie's  sake.  Now  I 
shall  say  good-night.  To-morrow  morning  will 
you  please  tell  Steenie  I  have  broken  our  en- 
gagement ?  Tell  her  I  discovered  that  it  was  a 
mutual  mistake.  Tell  only  that  and  wait.  Do 
not  ask  her  to  marry  you,  or  she  will  understand. 
Leave  the  future  to  me.  I  will  tell  you  when 
you  may  ask  her.     I  will  think  it  out  to-night." 

The  next  morning  when  Steenie  came  to  the 
library  to  find  her  sister  she  found  Bradnor. 
Rue's  directions  were  followed  ;  he  did  not  blun- 
der in  the  telling:  "They  had  discovered  it  was 
a  mutual  mistake."  It  still  rained  steadily.  At 
dinner  Bradnor  and  Rue  talked  and  laughed  like 
old  friends.  Steenie,  watching,  saw  only  the  pos- 
sible realization  of  her  own  happiness.  In  the 
afternoon  Rue  asked  her  to  postpone  the  visit  to 
Richmond;  and  Steenie,  admitting  that  it  Avas 
"frightful  weatlier,"  consented. 

That  evening  they  all  spent  in  the  drawing- 
room  together. 

Rue  was  an  admirable  actress,  and  the  play 
was  well  played.  A  lovely  rose-tint  had  come 
to  the  pale  cheeks  ©f  the  younger  sister.  The 
next  morning  the  sun  came  out  and  a  gaily- 
plumaged  little  "Humming-bird"  was  whirling 


''IPSO  jure:'  305 

about  Pike' s  chair,  pelting  the  giant  with  Christ- 
mas roses.  That  day  they  heard  that  Mrs.  Wil- 
son's mother  Avas  better. 

Rue  had  another  long  talk  with  Bradnor,  and 
two  days  afterward,  in  the  evening,  a  clergyman 
who  lived  near  came  in  answer  to  Rue's  summons 
and  stayed  all  nigljt. 

Colonel  Bradnor  was  going  to  New  York,  but 
after  breakfast  Pike' s  chair  was  rolled  into  the 
library.  Leszinksky's  portrait  was  wreathed 
with  flowers.  Fronting  the  picture  stood  his 
daughters,  and  when  the  question  was  asked, 
'^Who  giveth  this  woman  to  this  man?"  Rue 
kissed  her  sister's  hand  as  she  laid  it  in  the  hand 
of  Bradnor. 

The  only  witnesses  were  Bob  and  Pike,  and 
the  two  faithful  negroes  who  regarded  as  their 
own  these  orphan  children — the  "last  of  the 
family." 

The  clergyman  was  a  venerable  old  man  who 
had  known  Rue's  grandfather.  More  because 
he  was  persuaded  by  Rue' s  entreaties  than  con- 
vinced by  her  arguments  he  had  consented  to 
perform  this  ceremony,  which  was  to  be  kept 
secret  until  Steenie  was  of  age,  when  the  public 
marriage  service  would  be  celebrated.      Rue  re- 


306  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR, 

garded  this  as  only  a  solemn  betrothal,  and  so 
Bradnor  was  pledged  to  regard  it.  At  noon  he 
left  them. 

That  evening  the  Wilsons  returned  to  "The 
Cedars." 

Steenie's  hai)piness  was  very  quiet,  but  in  the 
light  of  certainty  it  was  very  complete.  Bradnor 
was  not  to  return  to  "  The  Cedars  "  until  spring, 
but  she  was  to  go  to  Philadelphia  the  last  of 
January,  and  remain  there  under  the  care  of 
Madame  Detontville,  not  as  a  pupil,  but  as  a 
young  lady  who  was  preparing  to  enter  society. 
In  the  spring  it  was  to  be  announced  that  she 
was  engaged  to  Bradnor. 


CHAPTEE  XLI. 

Why  do  we  wait  ?    What  passenger  is  tardy  ?    Let  us  away ! 

We  are  off,  and  the  team,  goes  famously  since  that  last  crack  of  the 
coachman's  whip. 

Before  we  reach  the  first  mile-post  I  remember  we  were  waiting  for 
"  Hagar." 

Stop !  There  is  no  need  to  touch  the  curb  or  put  on  the  brakes ;  the 
colts  are  tired  with  this  long  journey.  Even  the  sight  of  the  wished-fov 
goal,  which  we  can  see  through  the  long  reaches  of  the  dusty  highway  just 
beyond  tliat  ghastly  gibbet  does  not  tempt  them  from  their  willingness  to 
wait. 

While  they  fill  their  lungs  with  fresh  strength  and  the  foam  drops  from 
their  panting  sides  we  can  look  about  us  and  see  that  all  is  taut  ard 
strong  for  the  rush  that  is  coming  down  the  stony  hillside,  through  the 
rocky  valley,  and  up  to  the  mount  of  crucifixion,  where  the  nineteenth 
century  defies  the  Christ  as  it  pours  its  red  libation  upon  the  altar  of  re- 
venge. 

We  have  not  long  to  wait. 

See  !  from  that  by-path  through  the  cool,  dewy  woods,  where  March 
winds  have  blown  away  the  dead  leaves  which  covered  the  sleeping  vio- 
lets, comes  our  name-giver. 

The  rosy  feet  of  Atalanta  were  not  more  swift  than  those  of  this 
"  Hagar  "  who  is  flying  before  the  bent  brows  of  Ate.  She  is  here  !  Up 
and  on! 

Hurrah,  my  steeds !     The  journey  will  soon  be  ended. 

(Mrs.  CarisbrooJie  to  Mrs.  Hartley  from  Rose- 
banJc,  March  30,  1868.) 

''  fTlHIS  wild  Maxell  day  must  have  touched  my 

I      spleen,  I  am  so  out  of  sorts.     I  said  as 

much  to    Carisbrooke    this    morning,    at 

which  his  superior  wisdom  smiled.     Under  the 

807 


308  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

edge  of  the  cold  smile  a  sneer  was  so  perceptible 
that  I  insisted  upon  his  explaining  to  me  the  uses 
and  abuses  of  the  spleen.  '  Tell  it  not  in  Gath,' 
my  Kate,  '  whisper  it  not  in  Askalon ' ;  but,  truth- 
fully, he  couldn't  give  the  slightest  pretence  at  a 
rational  explanation  of  either  its  use  or  abuse. 

"  And  yet  these  men  sneer  us  down,  my  dear, 
with  the  depth  and  breadth  of  their  learning ! 
If  I  was  twenty  years  younger  I  would  study 
medicine  and  make  a  specialty  of  the  spleen. 

"  But  while  I  look  out  of  my  window  at  leaden 
clouds  and  the  shaking  of  things  in  this  bluster- 
ing wind  you  are  gathering  roses  under  sunny 
skies.  (Which  rose-gathering,  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  is  a  sentimentally  silly  figure  of 
speech.  I  do  not  know  just  what  one  maij  ga- 
ther in  Havana  in  March,  but  I  suspect  the  rose 
business  is  a  blunder.  I  presume  Carisbrooke 
would  know  ;  but  after  that  spleen  split  I  would 
see  him  hanged  before  I  would  go  a-begging  bits 
and  shreds  of  information  from  his  stock.)  I  do 
know  that  you  have  strawberries,  which  are  sure- 
ly more  edifying  to  the  stomach  than  mere  un- 
eatable and  sweet-scented  thin2:s. 

"But  this  trifling  is  not  the  news-letter  which 
I  intended  to  write. 


*' IPSO  JURE."  309 

*'  I  shall  not  answer  your  questions  in  the  order 
in  which  they  are  asked,  but  as  the  answers  fit 
into  tlie  narrative  I  am  about  to  write. 

^'Carson  returned  from  Texas  the  2oth  of  Janu- 
ary, about  a  week  after  I  last  wrote  you.  Young 
Wild- Cat  the  half-breed  had  gone  with  his  un- 
cle, Young  Wild-Cat  the  thoroughbred,  on  a  visit 
to  the  Zuni  Indians.  Carson  found  a  letter  from 
him  here  when  he  returned  with  his  malaria — the 
only  thing  he  gathered  on  the  banks  of  the  Eio 
Grande. 

* '  In  February  Eosebank  was  a  better  sort  of 
private  hospital.  First  Brooke  had  scarlet  fever, 
then  Daisy  came  near  dying  of  it.  Molly  and  I 
alternated  in  our  care  of  Carson  and  Brooke. 

^^Lucy,  or  'Hagar,'  as  you  will  name  her,  de- 
voted herself  to  Daisy.  Day  and  night  she 
watched  with  her.  The  night  we  thought  Daisy 
dying  the  anxiety  and  excitement  brought  on  one 
of  Lucy's  insane  attacks.  You  will  know  what 
a  grief  this  is  to  us  all,  and  what  a  disappoint- 
ment, when  we  had  hoped  she  was  entirely  cured. 
The  violent  period  did  not  last  long ;  but  it  was 
succeeded  by  one  of  those  silent,  desponding 
moods,  and  then  by  one  of  her  old  sudden  dis- 
appearances.  We  hope  she  is  with  the  0'  Dowds ; 


3 1 0  TEE  MODERN  HA  QAR. 

but  I  never  could  understand  from  her  just  where 
the  O'Dowds  live— somewhere  near  some  rail- 
way line,  not  far  from  New  York  and  Philadel- 
phia. But  that  direction  is  faint  indication  upon 
which  to  organize  a  search  ;  yet,  faint  as  it  is, 
it  is  being  followed. 

*' We  had  news  from  France  before  Lucy  left 
Rosebank  which  we  took  great  care  to  keep  from 
her  ;  but  Brooke  has  such  surprising  Avays  of  ac- 
quiring bits  of  knowledge,  and  of  coming  out 
with  his  possessions  on  the  most  unexpected  and 
inauspicious  occasions,  that  it  is  ^Dossible  she  did 
know  of  Julia's  death,  and  may  have  heard  some- 
thing of  the  news  from  Mai. 

^' After  six  weeks  of  marriage  the  marquis  is  a 
widower  !  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  consoled  by  the 
dot,  which  was  the  objective  motive.  Poor  Ju- 
lia !  I  try  to  forget  this  last  folly  and  remem- 
ber the  better  things  of  the  past. 

''  Mai  owed  her  much.  I  trust  during  the  few 
days  of  her  aunt's  illness  Mai  paid  this  debt  of 
ancient  kindness. 

^'  Captain  Hartley  wrote  Carisbrooke  of  Julia's 
death.  In  his  letter  he  repeats  the  promise  to 
meet  my  master  in  IS'ew  York  in  May.  To-day 
Carisbrooke  has  sent  the  letter  on  to  Robert,  who 


''IPSO  JURE."  311 

will  bring  his  wife,  and  I  hope  you  also  with 
them,  to  New  York.  I  shall  go  with  Carisbrooke, 
if  Molly  and  the  babies  are  all  well. 

*'The  news  of  the  ducliesse  will  keep  until 
then. 

''  JSTow  I  come  to  the  court  calendar  in  earnest 
— to  royal  intelligence. 

"  The  '  Princess '  has  been  here  ! 

'*  Princely  imperiousness  and  moodiness  grow 
upon  her.  I  think  the  'Yoyvoda'  pines  for  ac- 
tion. 

''Her  royal  highness  is  dissatisfied  with  the 
uneventful  life  of  these  piping  times  of  peace. 
Being  that  pitiable  thing— a  woman— she  cannot 
rush  into  the  turmoil  of  this  bespattering  recon- 
struction business.  Yet  the  regular  and  metho- 
dical life  of  a  Virginian  country  gentlewoman  is 
just  as  little  to  the  taste  of  the  '  Palatines s: 
(She  would  never  forgive  me  the  double  s.) 

"  What  our  '  Princess '  does  do  you  shall  know. 
I  drew  it  from  her  with  discreet  questioning. 
She  shoots  two  hours,  rides  half-broken  tho- 
roughbreds four,  and  reads  six  (heavy  read- 
ing, mark  yon).  Oh  !  I  had  forgotten  the  prin- 
cipal diversion.  Twice  a  week  a  celebrated 
fencing-master  goes  from  Washington   to  'The 


312  THE  MODERN  RAQAR. 

Cedars.'  With  as  much  aplomb  and  coolness 
as  if  she  were  talking  of  music  and  arpeggios 
she  said  :  *  I  used  to  fence  well  when  I  was  with 
the  army,  and  I  do  not  care  to  get  altogether  out 
of  practice.' 

'*  Carson  sees  in  all  this  a  praiseworthy  con- 
tinuance in  well-doing ! 

"•  He  says  she  is  the  most  skilful  fencer  he  ever 
saw,  and  he  raves  of  her  quickness  of  eye  and 
touch  with  either  rapier  or  pistol. 

^' Thank  Heaven  for  Molly's  plain,  womanly 
sense  !  She  will  save  my  granddaughters  from 
an  education  on  the  Palatine  plan.  But  then 
one  never  knows.  The  remote  ancestor  may 
break  out  in  time,  may  push  himself  into  the 
present  with  all  the  vagaries  of  the  dark  or  the 
middle  ages.  We  are  never  safe  from  these  re- 
productions. 

''  See  these  daughters  of  Stanislaus  Leszink- 
sky?  They  do  not  at  all  resemble  each  other, 
nor  do  they  resemble  their  father. 

^'Steenie  may  be  something  like  her  mother  ; 
I  rather  think  she  is  in  the  diplomatic  way  she 
has  of  getting  all  the  good  things  she  covets  and 
in  her  affections,  which  are  only  spongy  absorb- 
ents.    My  admirable  son-in-law  forgets  the  pro- 


''IPSO  jure:'  313 

prieties  and  the  commandments  when  he  refers 
to  the  slow  torture  of  Stanislaus  Leszinksky's 
life  with  Steenie's  mother. 

''  To  tell  my  news  of  Steenie  and  have  that  off 
my  memorandum  of  questions  I  will  tell  you  now 
where  she  is.  Why,  at  that  lovely  polishing 
shop  of  Madame  Detontville' s  in  Pliiladelphia— 
the  school  which  gave  the  duchesse  the  finishing 
touches  of  pretty  deceits  and  disgusted  the  '  Prin- 
cess '  with  all  approach  thereunto.  Its  effect  upon 
Steenie  will  be  an  interesting  study. 

*^Rue  has  not  a  look  of  Margaret  about  her, 
nor,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  any  of  her  qualities.  If 
there  is  any  Saxon  modification  it  has  come  from 
the  hot-blooded  Macdonalds,  which  has  had  no 
cooling  or  taming  effect  upon  the  kingly  Polish 
current. 

''  Yet  the  '  Princess '  has  grand  qualities  of  her 
own,  but  they  are  not  all  of  the  modern  conven- 
tional Cartaret  type,  though  even  Margaret  varied 
from  that  type. 

^'You  Cartarets  are  conventionalists.  You 
know  it  is  true,  Kate.  That  bugaboo  the  world 
has  chained  you  for  years  to — I  remember  and 
I  ask  pardon  ;  I  promised  you  to  say  no  more  of 
that  mistake  of  yours. 


314  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

*'  To  go  back  to  the  other  Cartarets.  Your  fa- 
ther was  a  formalist  in  his  ideas  of  women.  He 
thought  they  shouki  live,  move,  and  have  their 
being  inside  of  fixed  and  narrowly-limited  rules. 
Even  Margaret's  womanly  independence — which 
was  always  subject  to  her  affection — was  a  thorn 
CO  his  conventionalism  ;  as,  in  fact,  it  would 
have  been  to  her  own  father. 

"ButEue? 

"Why,  if  old  Colonel  Tom  could  hear  the 
crack  of  her  pistol  practice,  or  have  a  fearful 
vision  of  that  French  fencing-master  and  his  foils 
at  'The  Cedars,'  he  would  'revisit  the  glimpses 
of  the  moon'  and  speak  his  mind  in  those  classic 
objurgations  for  which  he  was  so  celebrated  when 
the  occasion  was  great  or  urgent. 

"But  the  Cartaret  men  were  not  singular  in 
tlieir  womanology. 

"Most  Virginians— ^^e  tliinlcing  males ^  hien 
entendu — had,  and  yet  Lave,  badly-mixed  ideas 
concerning  the  '  weaker  sex '  and  the  training 
needed  to  make  them  those  comjoosite  construc- 
tions of  angelical  feminine  excellences  which 
the  Virginian  man  is  bound  by  tradition  to  ad- 
mire. Their  theories  of  women — if  such  vague 
wanderings  of  untethered  thought  can  be  called 


''IPSO  JURE."  315 

theories — were  made  up  of  saws  from  Solomon 
and  the  sentimentalities  of  the  Troubadours. 

^'Not  that  I  object  to  this  modern  stealing 
from  Solomon,  but  the  Proverbs  and  the  light 
philosophy  of  the  gentle  King  Rene' s  singers  are 
not  the  affinities  a  wise  alchemist  would  put  in 
the  caldron  were  he  compounding  that  subtle 
essence  of  perfection,  a  perfect  woman. 

' '  Moreover,  the  Virginian  notions — they  are 
too  crude  to  be  called  aught  else — are  utterly 
unscientific ;  they  force  the  butterfly — in  other 
words,  the  Troubadouric  young  woman  who  is 
shrined  where  she  can  be  sighed  at  and  sung  to 
— back  into  a  grub. 

' '  Music,  poetry,  and  tender  sentiment  are  the 
girl's  nutriment;  the  lover's  sighs  are  breathed 
into  the  pearly  shells  of  sound  until  the  rosebud 
mouth  murmurs  '  yes.' 

' '  Then  when  the  honeymoon  has  waxed  and 
Avaned  Cupid  kisses  his  finger-tips  and  his  mo- 
ther's doves  bear  him  away  from  the  butterfly, 
who  folds  her  wings  as  she  creeps  into  the  grub- 
cover  and  crawls  through  the  daily  routine  of 
the  '  saw '  formula.  And  so  the  destructive  pro- 
cess of  this  backward  evolution  goes  on,  or  will 
go  on  until  good  comes  out  of  evil. 


316  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

''  I  am  in  the  Cassandra  vein,  my  Kate.  The 
spirit  of  prophecy  is  upon  me. 

*'The  future  and  only  possible  restoration  of 
the  feminine  grub  to  a  more  scientific  and  pleas- 
ing transition  was  assured  by  '  our  late  unplea- 
santness.^ 

*' There  will  be  protracted  philanthropic  and 
corrupt  political  effort  to  establish  race-equality 
in  the  reunited  States  ;  but  the  quixotism  of  phi- 
lanthropy and  the  greed  of  the  politician  cannot 
overturn  the  everlasting  processes  of  Nature. 
Her  scales  are  gradual  and  harmonious  in  ad- 
justment. 

^' Woman  is  the  melodic  ex^Dression  of  race. 
Barbaric  melodies  are  simple  utterances.  A  per- 
fect melody  is  the  thought  which  governs  har- 
monious expression. 

"Do  you  see  my  climax,  Kate?  When  races 
are  finally  adjusted  with  the  dominant  Caucasian 
in  place,  then  that  great  she,  Nature,  will 
crown  the  lesser   she,  Woman. 

"I  might  have  said  it  in  fewer  words,  which 
would  also  have  smacked  of  common  sense.  I 
will  try  it  again. 

"  Every  effort  for  change  and  for  free  thought 
is   a  lift,  after  the  mistakes  are  mended.     The 


''IPSO  JURE."  317 

mistake  of  giving  the  uneducated  and  race-inca- 
pacitated negro  political  equality  with  the  white 
man  will  right  itself  in  proving  the  inequality 
of  race  and  the  equality  of  sex. 

"You  know,  Kate,  I  am  not  an  extremist — one 
reason  may  be  the  sticking  quality  of  Virginian 
conservatism — but  I  do  hope  that  change  may  fol- 
low close  upon  the  heels  of  change,  until  the  bal- 
ance of  sex  is  so  adjusted  that  the  moral  influence 
of  woman  may  be  as  effective  in  public  affairs  as 
her  sympathetic  tastes  are  now  in  social  life. 

"I  am  not  an  optimistic  female-suffragist.  I 
do  not  think  that  the  political  enfranchisement 
of  woman  would  bring  the  millennium.  But  I 
believe  it  would  save  and  rehabilitate  hundreds 
of  thousands  who  are  noAv  besotted  and  vicious 
destructives  of  themselves  and  of  society.  I  be- 
lieve it  would  do  many  things  which  all  past 
civilization  has  failed  to  accomj3lish.  I  believe  it 
would  reform  the  drunkard  in  treating  him  as  an 
irresponsible  invalid  and  restraining  him  from 
the  personal  liberty  which  injures  him,  and  from 
citizenship  which  injures  others,  until  he  is 
clothed  and  in  his  right  mind.  This  in  itself 
would  be  an  immense  step  in  the  reformation  of 
the  law-making  element. 


318  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  men  would  be  the  first 
beneficiaries  of  sex-equality.  The  faithfulness, 
the  devotion,  the  gratitude,  the  maternal  instinct 
of  woman  would  make  that  sure.  Men  would 
have  early  and  full  payment  for  the  tardy  justice 
given  their  sisters.  But  the  benefits  would  all 
be  retroactive. 

"Behind  every  drunkard  and  every  criminal 
there  are  women  who  suffer.  Uplift  the  drunk- 
ard and  the  criminal  and  you  release  these  un- 
fortunates. I  do  not  believe  the  wildest  vision- 
ary can  overestimate  the  moral  force  the  world 
would  gain  through  such  an  uplifting. 

"Think  of  it,  my  Kate  !  It  would  make  the 
modern  Hagar  impossible. 

"  Here  I  have  been  rushing  into  a  discussion — 
following  one  of  my  vagaries,  Carisbrooke  would 
say— and  leaving  my  news  to  crystallize.  I  will 
give  you  the  broken  remainder  in  condensed  and 
highly  cencentrated  globules. 

"  The  '  Princess  '  lias  hroJcen  with  Bradnor  !  ! 

"Her  determination  to  sell  the  Chicago  and  St. 
Louis  property  Robert  has  probably  told  you  of, 
as  his  consent  was  given  upon  condition  of  Car- 
son's consent.  She  fought  this  out  with  Carson 
and  won.      She  wishes  to  settle   the  money   on 


*' IPSO  jure:'  319 

Steenie.  And  for  some  mysterious  reason  whicli 
lie  will  not  tell,  but  wMcli  is  to  be  explained  in 
May  after  that  settlement  of  yours,  Carson  was 
willing  sbe  should  divide  her  fortune  with  her 
sister. 

''Carson  was  so  ill  he  could  not  go  with  Eue 
to  St.  Louis  and  Chicago,  but  he  sent  one  of 
his  aids  as  escort. 

' '  That  aid  is  an  aspirant  for  royal  favor,  but 
he  will  come  to  grief. 

"The  '  Princess  '  is  not  matrimonially  inclined. 

''The  'Princess'  brought  Oscar  with  her,  and 
then  sent  him  to  New  York  to  find  the  O'Dowds 
and  get  news  of  Lucy.  She  also  wrote  to  Dr. 
Wilson  to  send  Stearns  to  meet  Oscar  and  assist 
in  the  search  for  Lucy.  They  both  knew  the 
O'Dowds  and  have  a  certain  intelligence  as  trail- 
ers. How  they  will  succeed  in  a  closely-settled 
country  remains  to  be  shown. 

"Of  course  Carson  and  Rue  have  faith  in 
frontier  craft.  Stearns  is  really  very  intelligent, 
and  both  the  men  are  loyal  and  devoted  to  the 
'  Princess. ' 

"Rue  promised  to  return  here  the  first  of  next 
month.  jS'ow  she  writes  as  if  doubtful :  '  Chi- 
cago affairs  are  detaining  her.' 


320  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

*'  It  seems  Bradnor  met  her  in  CMcago  ! ! 

*'  I  asked  Carson  if  that  meant  re-engage- 
ment. He  said  'No!'  very  decidedly,  but 
would  not  explain. 

"  I  tliink  I  can  guess  the  riddle,  and  that  the 
answer  is,  Steenie  1" 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

"  0  world  !  so  few  the  rears  we  live, 
"Would  that  the  life  which  thou  dost  give 
Were  life  indeed  !  " 

RUE'S  stay  in  St.  Louis  was  not  long.  Tlie 
property  there  had  been  bonght  in  her  own 
right  since  her  majority  and  its  sale  was 
easily  effected. 

But  the  Chicago  affairs  had  gone  badly. 

First  there  was  a  personal  matter  which  dis- 
turbed the  "Princess."  The  inconsiderate  aid 
obtruded  sentiment,  forgetting  his  position  as 
business  escort,  and  was  immediately  placed  in 
the  list  of  the  rejected.  To  stay  on  in  pain  and 
awkwardness  or  to  leave  abruptly  w^ere  the  two 
horns  of  the  dilemma.  Bradnor'  s  arrival  was  a 
fortunate  excuse  and  release  to  the  discomfited 
officer.  He  returned  to  Cincinnati,  and  Rue's 
good-fortune  seemed  to  go  with  him.  Mrs.  Ca- 
risbrooke  had  sent  her  maid  with  Rue  ;  and  the 
detention,  which  she  feared  would  inconvenience 
Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  was  another  worry. 

321 


322  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

In  the  business  affairs  were  the  vexatious  de- 
lays and  quibbles  of  the  law.  The  written  and 
attested  consent  of  her  trustees  could  not  do 
away  with  certain  technical  objections  to  Rue's 
signature  to  sales  of  '^  the  Cartaret  estate"  pro- 
perty. The  finality  of  ownership  was  yet  unset- 
tled, and  the  balance  of  legal  opinion  was  against 
the  validity  of  title  not  executed  by  the  trustees. 
The  majority  of  counsel  consulted  held  that  if 
Rue  died  unmarried  and  childless  even  the  ac- 
crued interest,  invested  by  the  trustees,  would 
revert  to  the  heirs  named  in  Colonel  Cartaret' s 
will,  although  the  firm  acting  for  Bradnor,  one 
of  the  shrewdest  and  most  successful  in  the 
management  of  real  estate,  held  a  directly  op- 
posite opinion. 

The  imperious  temper  of  the  ''Princess"  ill 
brooked  these  daily  discussions,  and  she  was 
about  to  postpone  it  all  until  the  next  summer, 
when  General  Carson  and  Mr.  Robert  Caris- 
brooke  could  be  present,  when  Bradnor  i)roposed 
to  buy  the  property  directly  from  her,  ''  promd- 
ed  the  doubt  in  the  title  was  considered  in  the 
price.^'' 

With  a  royal  look  of  contempt  for  his  miserly 
prudence  the  "  Princess"  consented  to  sell  him 


**iPso  jure:'  333 

all  the  Chicago  property  of  the  Car  tare  t  estate 
for  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
which  was  less  than  half  its  actual  value.  She 
receipted  for  the  payment  of  the  Chicago  pro- 
Ijerty,  and  added  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
from  the  St.  Louis  fund  and  her  note  for  fifty 
thousand,  thus  completing  tlie  payment  of  the 
sum  she  had  promised  to  give  her  sister. 

After  Rue's  settlement  with  Bradnor  she  had 
a  balance  left  from  the  St.  Louis  money  which 
she  had  brought  with  her  to  Chicago  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars  in  United  States  gold  certifi- 
cates. She  declined  to  exchange  them,  as  Brad- 
nor suggested,  for  a  check  on  New  York. 

All  these  transactions  had  intensified  Rue's 
growing  contempt  and  dislike  for  her  young  sis- 
ter's husband.  She  had  left  him  at  his  lawyer's 
rooms  and  walked  from  Madison  Street  to  a 
bookseller's  in  State  Street,  where  she  bought 
some  books  and  a  small  Russia-leather  hand- 
satchel,  wliich  was  to  have  her  initials  engraved 
upon  the  clasp  and  be  sent  to  her  at  the  Sher- 
man House  in  an  hour.  In  the  little  hallway 
of  the  ladies'  entrance  to  the  hotel  she  met 
Bradnor. 

"  I  was  waiting  to  see  you,  Rue.     It  is  impos- 


324  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

sible  for  me  to  go  on  to  New  York  before  to- 
morrow night.     Do  you  mind  waiting  \  " 

''  I  mind  it  very  much.  In  fact,  I  cannot  Avait. 
I  am  ah'eady  two  weeks  late,  and  the  Wilsons,  I 
know,  are  impatient  for  my  return.  But  that 
need  make  no  difference  to  you.  I  wdll  have  to 
stop  two  days  in  New  York,  and  I  shall  see  you 
there." 

"  Then  will  you  go  on  to-night  ?" 

''Yes." 

"But  tlie  train  starts  at  eight  o'clock;  it  is 
now  half -past  five." 

"  I  shall  be  ready." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go  by  Cincinnati  1 " 

*'  No  ;  the  maid  I  brought  from  Doctor  Caris- 
brooke'  s  would  be  unwilling  to  go  to  New  York, 
and,  besides,  Mrs.  Carisbrooke  might  be  incon- 
venienced. She  can  go  on  to  Cincinnati  from 
Fort  Wayne.  From  there  I  shall  do  quite  well 
alone.  I  presume  Oscar  will  be  at  the  New  York 
Hotel  when  I  reach  New  York.  I  directed  him 
to  wait  there,  so  I  will  have  some  one  to  look 
after  the  luggage." 

"Very  well;  I  will  telegraph  the  New  York 
Hotel  people  to  send  to  meet  your  train.  Shall 
I  get  you  tickets  by  the  Erie  Road  ? " 


"/P50  jure:'  325 

**Yes." 

It  cost  her  an  effort  to  accept  even  this  slight 
courtesy,  and  she  was  glad  to  be  free  from  his 
further  presence. 

She  only  half  listened  as  Bradnor  said:  '^  You 
had  better  take  the  girl  on  with  you  to  Crestline. 
She  will  then  have  no  change  to  make  between 
that  and  Cincinnati,  and  you  will  have  her  with 
you  to-night." 

' '  Yery  well ;  I  would  rather  have  her  to- 
night." 

^'I  wish  you  would  wait." 

''No;  a  short  experience  of  self-dependence 
will  do  me  good." 

Bradnor  started  to  make  arrangements  for  her 
journey,  and  Kue  went  directly  to  her  rooms, 
where  the  maid  was  waiting. 

"AYe  are  going  in  two  hours.  You  will  be 
with  me  to-night,  and  you  can  go  home  from 
Crestline.     Are  you  ready  ? " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Rue  ;  everything  is  packed  except 
this  plain  travelling-dress  which  I  kept  out.  Is 
this  the  one  you  wanted?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  loose  and  comfortable.  We  have 
one  change  to  make,  and  I  do  not  ^vish  to  un- 
dress.    I  can  go  through  in  tliis.     O  Mary  !  here 


326  THE  MODERN  HA  GAR. 

is  a  roll  of  notes  I  want  to  carry  safely ;  my 
pocket  might  be  picked,  and  it  will  not  do  to 
risk  them  in  the  luggage.     What  can  you  do  ?  " 

*'I  can  easily  sew  them  in  the  upper  jmrt  of 
the  facing  of  your  dress,  Miss  Rue.  The  facing 
is  stiff  and  heavy,  and  I  can  get  a  thin  piece  of 
muslin  and  lay  the  bills  smooth  in  that,  <nd 
then  they  will  never  show  under  the  facing  ;  the 
heavy  j^laits  on  the  outside  will  hide  them  per- 
fectly." 

''Very  well.  Do  not  unpack  to  get  the  things 
needed  ;  you  can  buy  them  at  the  little  shop 
across  the  street." 

Before  Bradnor  returned  their  preparations 
were  complete  and  Rue  and  the  maid  had  dined. 
They  had  still  an  hour  to  wait.  Eue  wrote  to 
Steenie  and  to  Carson.  She  had  just  dii'ected 
the  letters  when  the  carriage  was  announced. 

At  Crestline  the  maid  left  Rue.  Slie  took  a 
parcel  to  the  Carisbrookes  and  the  letter  to  Car- 
son. 

She  remembered  afterward  every  detail  of  the 
sleeping  car  in  which  she  had  arranged  Miss 
Rue's  travelling- shawls  and  packages.  She 
knew  the  young  lady  had  taken  the  two  sections 
just  opposite  each  other  through  to  New  York, 


^' IPSO  jure:'  327 

that  she  might  not  be  annoyed  by  neighbors. 
The  girl  told  that  she  had  said  laughingly: 

''I  shall  have  a  sitting-room  and  a  bedroom.  I 
can  change  with  the  sunlight  and  will  not  be  dis- 
turbed. Do  not  lose  that  parcel  or  yourself.  Be 
sure  you  get  on  the  right  train." 

*^Yes,  Miss  Rue;  I  will  get  home  all  right 
with  the  parcels." 

Mary  always  broke  down  in  the  next  sentence  : 
''I  thanked  her  for  her  generous  gifts  and  said 
good-by ;  and  as  the  train  left  she  looked  from 
the  window  to  see  me  go  back  to  the  waiting- 
room.  The  last  word  I  heard  was,  '  You  must 
come  with  Mrs.  Carson  next  summer  to  "The 
Cedars."'" 

The  train  rushed  on  eastward.  At  the  station 
where  they  stopped  for  dinner  the  conductor 
came  to  Rue.  "Yes,"  she  preferred  to  get  out. 
The  conductor  left  her  in  the  dining-room.  He 
was  called  out  by  some  one.  Rue,  feeling  a  little 
nervous  in  her  new  condition  of  "self-depen- 
dence," only  drank  a  cup  of  coffee  and  hurried 
back  to  find  her  x^lace. 

A  pale,  delicate  girl,  whose  worn  but  neat 
clothing  told  a  story  that  touched  Rue's  sym- 
pathy, was  walking  on  the  long  platform,  halt- 


328  THE  MODERN  HAQAR. 

ing  witli  a  tired,  weary  air  to  look  in  the  dif- 
ferent windows.  Rue  stopi^ed.  The  chance 
to  assist  another  strengthened  her  self-depen- 
dence. 

'•  Have  you  lost  your  place  ?  Can  you  not  find 
the  car?" 

"  I  have  no  place  yet,  and  I  do  not  know  where 
to  find  one.     I  am  alone.'- 

''  So  am  I ;  come  with  me." 

The  look  of  thanks,  the  glad  relief  expressed 
in  the  sad  face,  increased  Rue's  interest  in  her 
new-found  protegee. 

^' Where  are  you  going?" 

''  To  ISTew  York.  My  only  brother  is  ill  there 
in  the  hospital." 

Just  then  they  reached  the  sleeping-car;  the 
girl  hesitated. 

*' My  ticket  is  not  for  a  sleeping-car;  I  shall 
have  to  go  back  to  one  of  the  cars  we  have 
passed." 

^'No,  you  will  not  go  back.  I  have  a  double 
section.  I  had  a" — she  caught  back  the  word 
before  it  w^as  uttered,  and  went  on — "young  girl 
with  me  from  Chicago,  but  she  got  off  this  morn- 
ing ;  you  can  have  her  place.  I  assure  you  it  is 
no  extra  expense.      I  have  taken  these  places 


''IPSO  JURE."  329 

through  to  New  York,  and  I  will  be  very  glad  to 
have  you  come.     It  will  be  a  favor  to  me." 

The  frank  manner  and  the  kind  face  decided 
the  girl.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  seated 
and  the  guest  was  made  at  home.  Before  even- 
ing the  '^Princess"  had  in  her  own  thought 
adopted  another  inmate  for  "  The  Cedars." 

The  puzzle  was  just  what  position  to  offer  the 
stranger,  who,  it  was  evident,  was  well  brought 
up.  It  was  just  as  evident  that  her  health  and 
hopes  had  been  shattered  in  a  long  struggle  witli 
want. 

In  the  evening  Rue  opened  the  luncheon-bas- 
ket Mary  had  filled  for  her  in  Chicago.  They 
had  quite  a  merry  little  supper,  and  a  faint  color 
came  into  the  pale  cheeks.  The  delicately-cook- 
ed game,  the  white  rolls,  and  the  red  Bordeaux 
were  the  medicines  the  invalid  needed.  Rue's 
resolution  of  adoption  gTew  stronger. 

After  supper  the  outline  of  the  story  she  wanted 
to  hear  was  voluntarily  told  to  her.  Two  orphan 
children  had  been  left  with  a  maiden  aunt  who 
taught  in  a  village  school  on  Long  Island  to  win 
bread  for  herself  and  her  dead  sister's  children. 
Then  the  boy  got  a  place  about  the  railroad  sta- 
tion, and  his  little  earnings  helped.     The  aunt 


330  THE  MODERN  BAG  AM. 

broke  down  at  her  work  and  the  young  people 
were  the  care-takers.  The  brother  was  advanced 
gradually  and  transferred  from  time  to  time  to 
different  places.  When  the  aunt  died  he  was 
conductor  on  a  freight-train  running  through 
from  New  York  to  Chicago.  He  brought  his 
sister  West,  where  she  tried  teaching,  but  it 
made  her  nervous  and  ill.  Then  she  did  w^hat 
plain  sewing  she  could  get ;  her  scant  earnings 
helped  x>ay  for  the  extra  exj)ense  of  frequent  ill- 
ness. Her  brother  did  all  he  could  for  her,  but 
it  was  evident  to  Rue  that  to  save  him  the  girl 
had  fought  the  battle  alone  as  far  as  she  could. 
IS'o^v  it  was  the  brother  who  was  down — ''mala- 
rial fever." 

"The  hospital  nurse  Avrote  me  that  day  and 
night  he  talks  of  me.  I  had  my  aunt' s  watch, 
and  that  and  some  housekeeping  things  I  sold 
brought  enough  to  take  me  to  New  York  ;  but 
you  see  I  will  not  have  much  left,  so  I  have  to  be 
economical." 

The  "Princess"  thought  with  delight  of  that 
roll  of  gold  certificates  under  her  dress-plaits. 

Then  she  told  the  story  of  7ter  life  and  "its 
household  cares"  (Mrs.  Carisbrooke  would  have 
thought  that  meant  a  target  missed  or  a  foil 


''IPSO  JURE."  331 

broken);  that  her  steward  (Bob!!)  ''needed 
an  assistant,"  and  she  wished  a  "housekeeper 
who  would  also  be  a  companion,"  adding  with  a 
smile  : 

"But  we  will  talk  of  all  that  in  ISTew  York 
with  your  brother.  I  have  a  severe  headache 
and  you  are  tired.    I  intend  to  order  you  to  bed." 

"Let  me  brush  your  hair.  My  aunt  used  to 
say  my  fingers  were  magnetic  ;  possibly  I  can  re- 
lieve your  headache." 

To  please  her  Rue  consented.  The  girl  brush- 
ed the  heavy  masses  of  hair,  and  then  softly 
pressed  Rue's  throbbing  temples  with  her  cool 
hands. 

"There,"  said  Rue,  "thank  you,  my  head  is 
better  ;  now  you  must  go  to  bed. ' ' 

The  porter  came  to  arrange  the  couch.  Rue 
had  her  guest' s  made  up,  but  preferred  her  own 
as  it  was.  She  could  not  sleep,  and  she  wanted 
to  open  the  window  if  she  should  feel  faint.  She 
had  been  liberal  in  her  gratuities,  and  the  porter 
said  he  would  come  later  and  arrange  the  couch 
if  it  was  wanted. 

Rue  was  sitting  by  the  window  when  the  train 
stopped  at  Binghamton.  When  the  door  near 
her  opened  she  heard  a  familiar  voice  talking 


332  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

witli  the  porter,  and  the  old  clergyman,  her 
neighbor  at  "The  Cedars,"  entered.  There  was 
a  warm  hand-shaking,  a  fe^v  inquiries,  Rue's 
short  explanation  of  her  delay  at  Chicago,  and 
the  rector's  explanation  of  his  unexpected  visit 
to  Binghaniton  to  see  an  old  parishioner.  He 
had  been  in  Philadelphia  on  some  church  busi- 
ness, and  '^  could  not  refuse  to  make  this  detour 
to  see  his  friend  on  his  way  to  New  York.'^ 
Then,  with  good-nights  and  the  expectation  of 
further  talk  in  the  morning,  they  parted. 

This  unexpected  meeting  did  not  help  Rue  to 
quiet  rest.  It  brought  back  her  rash  decision 
and  tlie  regrets  that  were  beginning  to  haunt  her. 
"'  Had  she  done  well  to  give  Steenie  to  Bradnor  ? 
She  was  such  a  mere  child  she  might  have  out- 
grown her  first  love."  Then  Rue  thought  with 
terror  of  the  possibilities  of  Steenie' s  future  dis- 
enchantment in  this  love-match.  *'Have  I  only 
ruined  her  life  in  my  overhaste  to  make  her 
happy  ?  And  is  not  this  concealment  of  the  mar- 
riage and  her  separation  from  her  husband  still 
more  dangerous  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better 
to  have  told  General  Carson  and  the  Caris- 
brookes  ?  If  Steenie"— but  she  dared  not  think 
of  the  possibility  of  Steenie' s  love  changing. 


"  IPSO  JUREr  -333 

Rue's  temples  were  throbbing  and  hot,  and 
she  got  up  to  go  to  the  dressing-room  and  bathe 
her  face  and  head.  As  she  was  leaving  her  seat 
her  guest  called  : 

''  Are  you  ill  1    Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? " 

''Yes,"  said  Rue.  "You  can  take  care  of 
these  things  for  me.  It  is  somewhat  of  a  risk  to 
leave  them  on  the  seat.  I  am  going  to  bathe  my 
forehead.     I  have  great  faith  in  the  water-cure." 

And  Rue  put  the  satchel  she  had  bought  in 
Chicago  in  the  girl's  berth.'  She  had  taken  olf 
her  watch  to  put  in  it,  but  there  was  some  diffi- 
culty with  the  clasp,  and  she  thrust  it  under  her 
guest's  pillow,  saying,  as  she  took  off  herrings 
and  gave  them  to  her  to  keep  : 

"  I  sliall  not  have  the  trouble  of  drying  them. 
Do  not  try  to  keep  awake.  I  may  go  to  the  door 
and  see  what  fresh,  unpoisoned  air  will  do.  It  is 
fearfully  close  here,  and  the  old  lady  next  me 
begged  me  to  close  my  window." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  your  head,  and  so  sorry  I 
can  do  nothing  for  you  when  you  have  been  so 
kind,  so  good  to  me  !  " 

And  the  sensitive  mouth  trembled,  and  the  soft 
blue  eyes  swam  in  misty  light  as  they  looked  in 
the  face  which  was  bending  down  above  them. 


034  THE  MODERN  HAGAR, 

Rue  kissed  the  tender  eyes  and  whispered 
softly  : 

"  Sleej)  now.  To  morrow  I  will  go  with  you  to 
your  brother.  A  fairy  has  told  me  that  your 
troubles  are  nearly  ended.  Sleep  and  be  hap- 
py!" 

After  bathing  her  face  Rue  wrapped  about  her 
a  light  shawl  she  had  taken  from  the  package 
Mary  had  strapped  together,  and  oj^ened  tlie  door. 

It  was  the  rear  car,  and  the  brakeman  had 
gone  forward.  Afraid  of  fresh  complaint  of  the 
draught,  she  stepped  out  on  the  platform  and 
pulled  the  door  shut  behind  her. 

The  damp  night  air — it  was  raining  a  sleety, 
drizzly  rain — chilled  her.  She  had  been  holding 
to  the  iron  rail ;  as  she  let  go  to  turn  to  the  door 
behind  her  the  car  rocked  violently  to  one  side 
and  threw  her  on  the  steps.  She  caught  at  the 
railing— missing  it,  she  fell  from  the  car.  It  was 
her  last  moment  of  consciousness.  The  rebound 
sent  her  over  the  edge  of  the  low  embankment, 
and  she  rolled  down  the  muddy  declivity  into  a 
rougli  country  road,  striking  heavily  against  the 
jagged  top  of  a  low  stump,  which  threw  her  back 
a  little  to  one  side. 

The  accident  to  Rue  was  only  the  jDrelude  to 


''IPSO  JURE."  335 

one  not  yet  forgotten.  At  Carr's  Rock  the  train 
went  over  a  high  embankment.  Fire  and  water 
fought  each  other  for  the  victims  who  were  fas- 
tened in  and  under  the  wreck.  It  w^as  hours  be- 
fore help  came  to  them. 

The  screams  of  agony  from  the  sleeping-car 
were  hushed  before  the  flames  were  extinguished. 

A  few  of  the  charred  dead  were  recognized  by 
their  friends.  The  "  imrishioner  from  Bingham- 
ton"  found  the  remains  of  his  old  pastor.  The 
baggage  of  Miss  Leszinksky  was  on  the  train, 
and  after  the  day's  search  w^as  over  a  charred 
skeleton  with  three  rings  on  the  burnt  fingers  was 
found  alone  in  a  section.  Beneath  the  disfigured 
corpse  a  w^atch  and  chain  were  almost  fused  by 
the  heat,  but  when  forced  open  the  watch  had 
the  letters  ^'  R.  L."  beneath  the  arms  of  Poland. 
The  rings  had  the  same  initials.  In  a  pool  of 
w^ater  beneath  the  car  a  Russia-leather  satchel 
was  discovered.  It  contained  papers  and  memo- 
randa not  entirely  destroyed  belonging  to  Miss 
Leszinksky. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

"  The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  scourge  us." 

IT  was  a  rugged,  barren  hill  not  many  miles 
from  where  that  disaster  occurred  at  Carr's 
Rock.  Here  and  there  patches  were  sparse- 
ly scattered  of  dark  hemlock  and  stunted  bushes 
of  glossy-leaved  laurels. 

In  some  few  hollows  to  the  south  hardy  grasses 
had  matted  their  roots  and  covered  the  thin  soil 
with  the  long  strips  of  tender,  delicate  green 
which  proved  that  Spring  had  gone  northward. 
She  had  but  touched  the  rocky  ridge  ;  but  down 
in  the  valleys  between  the  hills  and  in  the  mea- 
dows by  the  river  the  vegetation  said  that  May 
had  come. 

On  this  high  summit,  which  commanded  a  view 
of  the  distant  stretches  of  the  twisted  chain  of 
hills  belonging  to  the  three  different  States 
through  which  the  Delaware  carries  its  waters 
to  the  bay,  one  could  only  feel  the  warm  breath 
of  May  as  it  blew  the  rifted  clouds  eastward. 

336 


''IPSOJUREr  337 

It  was  still  early  morning.  On  the  very  top- 
most point  of  the  hill,  near  where  three  dwarfed 
hemlocks  held  together,  somewhat  sheltered  by  a 
huge  rock  which  had  defended  the  young  trees 
from  the  strong  northwest  winds  until  their 
branches  were  tall  enough  to  look  over  their 
protector,  Oscar  was  lying,  watching  the  rail- 
way station  he  could  see  in  the  river  valley. 

The  negro  looked  worn  with  grief  and  fatigue. 
In  his  face  a  hopeless  despair  was  lit  by  occa- 
sional flashes  of  fierce  rage. 

He  had  in  his  hand  field-glasses,  which  he 
turned  from  the  station  to  the  long,  curving  i-ail- 
way  track,  and  from  time  to  time  to  the  Port 
Jervis  road  on  the  ridge  beneath. 

Suddenly  he  heard  behind  him  the  fall  of 
stones  loosened  by  feet  which  were  climbing  the 
hillside.  He  sprang  up  and  walked  rapidly 
downward  to  meet  the  climber. 

^'  O  Marse  Bob !  I  begun  to  be  afeard  you 
wahn't  ever  a-gwine  to  come.  I  thought  may 
be—"     He  stopped  abruptly. 

''  You  thought  may  be  I  was  drunk  ? "  Stearns 
paused  a  moment,  but  as  Oscar  made  no  reply  he 
continued:  ^'And  you'd  a- thought  right,  if  it 
hadn't  a-been  fur  one  thing:    jus'  when  I  was 


338  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

a-gettin'  a  good  start  fur  it  I  seen  Captain  Hart- 
ley." 

The  negro  threw  up  his  hand  with  a  hoarse 
bellow  of  rage. 

''Keep  still,  Oscar.  You  jus'  keep  your  bal- 
ance, and  this  time  we'll  git  him.  He's  always 
had  the  whip-hand  on  us  befo'  ;  but  to-day  he'll 
lose  the  full  he's  a-bettin'  on.  The  devil's  got 
pressin'  bizness  on  hand  somewhars  else,  and 
he  ain't  a-lookin'  arfter  his  pet.  I'll  rest  here 
fur  ten  minutes  and  tell  you  whar  I  met  up  with 
him.  Then  we  must  be  off.  Set  down,  Oscar,  or 
I  won' t  say  anuther  word.  Set  down,  I  tell  you  ! 
You'll  want  all  the  strength  that's  in  you  fur  the 
walk  that's  a-comin',  and  may  be  a  fight  arfter 
we  find  out  what  he's  a-doin'." 

The  negro  sat  down  and  Stearns  began : 

''  Well,  you  see,  I  got  to  IS'ew  York  befo'  nine 
o'clock  yesteddy  mornin\  and  I  told  General 
Carson  that  we'd  jus'  circled 'round  and 'round 
Port  Jervis  and  found  nothin'  of  Lucy  or  the 
O'Dowds.  And  I  asked  him  if  he  had  hearn 
anything.  But  he  hadn't,  excep'  that  Capin 
Hartley  was  somewhar  about  New  York. 

''General  Carson  thought  may  be  Fd  better 
stop  once  mo'  at  Port  Jervis  and  see  that  detec- 


*' IPSO  JURE."  339 

tive  he's  got  thar.  N'ow,  I  ain't  never  b'lieved 
in  that  feller  no  way — an  eddicated  cuss  that's 
been  two  weeks  a-lookin'  fur  the  O'Dowds,  arf- 
ter  Mrs.  Carson  done  sent  him  the  name  of  that 
drug-man  in  Port  Jervis  what  put  his  sign  and 
the  town  on  the  bottle  of  campJiire  and  the  lit- 
tle box  that  was  in  Lucy's  room.  I  wonder  what 
the  Big  Chief  would  a- thought  of  such  a  trailer? 
Why,  he'd  lose  hisself  an'  find  nobody,  if  he 
w^as  on  a  war-path;  and  that's  wdiat  this  is  like 
to  be. 

"  Well,  I  asked  him  like  the  general  told  me, 
and  he  hadn't  got  a  bit  furder  in  the  bizness 
than  he  w^as  befo'  the  trouble  'bout  Cap'n  Rue  ; 
then,  you  know — well,  that  week  I  got  drunk. 

' '  Onless  Mrs.  Leszinksky  had  a-come  dowm 
herself  all  the  angels  in  heaven  couldn't  a- held 
me  sober  wdien  I  saw  them  cars  and  what  was 
left  of  the  little  baby  I  had  helloed  save  from  the 
flood  and  the  Injuns. 

*'But  I  mustn't  think  o'  her  like  that  wdien 
this  villain's  to  trap,  else  I'll  get  off  agin.  You 
see  when  Cap'n  Rue  died  my  pledge-time  was 
up.  That  was  the  time  I  promised  fur.  I  swore 
that  as  long  as  a  Leszinksky  lived  that  keered 
fur  me  to  quit  liquor  I'd  quit.     An  she  was  the 


340  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

last — tlie  last  that  keerecl  ;  fur  Miss  Steenie's 
married,  and  she  ain't  like  a  Leszinksky  nohow. 
She  wouldn'  t  keer  if  I  etarnally  stayed  drunk. 

''I  suppose,  anyway,  I  would  a-got  sober  on 
and  off.  I'  d  a-had  to,  if  the  devils  had  a-got  me 
like  they  did  in  the  Injun  country.  But  I  would 
a-gone  at  the  bizness  systematic,  if  General 
Carson  hadn'  t  a-got  it  in  his  head,  and  a-put  it 
in  mine  and  yourn,  that  Hartley  had  a  hand 
in  this  devil's  work  here  at  Carr's  Rock.  Yoio 
wahn't  hard  of  b'lievin'.  I  don't  know  as  you 
or  the  general  would  a-thought  o'  this  if  you 
hadn't  hearn  that  young  Mr.  Stan  saved  that 
scoundrel  of  a  Marten  from  drownin'  the  time 
you  throwed  him  in  the  river. 

"That  was  what  made  General  Carson  think 
Marten  and  Marten' s  master  was  at  the  bottom 
o'  this. 

"But  my  ten  minutes  is  'most  up  and  I  ain't 
finished  my  story.  I  must  hurry  it.  The  detec- 
tive hadn't  I'arnt  anything.  So  I  went  to  that 
tavern  thar  by  the  railroad  in  Port  Jervis,  you 
know,  where  we  stayed  when  we  went  to  see  all 
that  was  lef  us  of  Cap'n  Rue.  And  like  as  not- 
fur  I  was  disapp'inted  and  bothered — I'd  a-been 
rl'ar  drunk  to-day  ;  but  jus'  as  I  was  a-thinkin' 


''IPSO  JURE."  341 

I  conldn'  t  do  notliin'  and  would  take  a  drink  I 
saw  Hartley  ridin'  out  tliis  way. 

''  I  know' d  him  in  a  minute.  He  ain't  got  over 
the  dragoon  way  o'  ridin' — none  of  'em  ever 
does.  More  'an  that,  I  could  tell  that  sneerin', 
hooked  nose  of  his  in  a  million. 

''  Thar  was  a  country  feller  at  the  tavern  jus' 
gettin'  in  his  buggy  to  come  out  a  piece  this 
way.  I  paid  him  five  dollars  to  bring  me  and 
follow  the  man  I  was  arfter.  I  told  liim  'twas  a 
man  what  owed  me  somethin',  and  I  told  the 
truth.     I'm  a-goin'  to  git  my  pay  now. 

' '  Hartley  rode  fast,  and  we  arfter  him  as  fast 
as  we  could.  I  meant  to  keep  him  in  sight  till  I 
got  close  by  here — I  know'  d  you  would  be  a- watch- 
in'  here — and  then  I  meant  to  come  fur  you — " 

*^  I'm  ready,  Marse  Bob.     Whar  is  he  ?  " 

*'Befo'  I  tell  you,  you  mus'  make  me  a  pro- 
mise." 

"I'm  a-gwine  to  kill  him,  Marse  Bob.  When 
I  lets  him  loose  he  won' t  live  over  it  like  Marten 
did.  If  the  Lord  'ill  only  d' liver  him  into  my 
ban's  onct  I  never  will  let  him  go  out  ov  'em 
alive." 

'^Now,  you  see,  Oscar,  that's  jus'  whar  you  al- 
ways was  a  fool.      You  ain'  t  in  God  a-Mighty'  s 


342  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

secrets.  He  ain't  a-keepin'  folks  to  d' liver  'em 
into  your  hands.  When  he  gets  through  with  a 
rascal— and  I'm  free  to  say  he  handles  a  good 
many  of  'em — he's  got  a  place  fur  'em  and  a 
special  jailer  of  his  own.  Leastways  'most  on 
the  church  folks  do  so  b'lieve,  'cep'  Pike. 

^'Pike's  alius  willin'  to  let  a  sinner  go  in  on 
God's  marcy.  He  ain't  mean  or  stingy  with 
Kingdom-come.  He  b'lieves  in  free  givin',  and 
he  lives  up  to  what  he  b'lieves. 

^'But  to  come  back  to  what  we  was  a-sayin'. 
Now,  if  you're  a-goin'  to  rush  in  and  do  the 
devil's  bizness  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  tell  you  whar  the 
job  is  a-waitin'.  So  you'll  jus'  make  me  let  that 
scoundrel  off  agin." 

"Marse  Bob,  I  can't  make  no  blin'  promise 
'bout  that  man.  He's  done  me  harm  'nough. 
And  'ithout  talkin'  o'  me,  thar's  Lucy's  'count 
with  him  waitin'.  Marse  Carson  b'lieves  and  I 
b'lieve  he  liad  somethin'  to  do  with  that  broke 
rail  on  the  track  thar  whar  Miss  Rue  was  killed. 
I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  Marse  Bob — I'm  a-goin'  to 
kill  him." 

The  negro's  eyes  were  ablaze,  and  the  last  sen- 
tence seemed  to  escape  unconsciously  through 
his  shut  teeth. 


-IPSO  jure:'  34:3 

'^  Well,  go  and  find  him!"  said  Bob,  and  he 
threw  himself  full  length  upon  the  ground,  as 
if  he  meant  to  stay  there.  Oscar  looked  about 
uneasily.  He  watched  the  road  with  quick 
glances,  varied  by  an  occasional  appealing 
look  at  the  impassive  Steams.  At  last  he 
said : 

' '  What  do  you  want  me  to  promise,  Marse 
Bob?" 

Bob  rose  up  slowly  and  brushed  oS  the  hem- 
lock leaves  that  were  sticking  in  his  clothing ; 
til  en  he  turned  to  Oscar. 

'']S"ow  you're  a-comin'  to  your  senses  agin'. 
You  mus'  promise  me  not  to  kill  Cap'n  Hartley, 
'less  we  get  in  a  fight  whar  we're  a-goin',  and  I 
say  to  you  that  we  must  take  him  alive  or  kill 
him.  You  see  if  I  ketch  him  sicli  a  way  that 
I've  got  the  drap  on  him — the  proof  General 
Carson  wants — why,  then  Til  Jceep  7iim  or  kill 
Mm.  He  sha'n't  git  away  then  ;  and  somehow  I 
count  on  findin'  him  and  Marten,  and  proofs  o' 
what  they've  been  a  doin'.  But  if  I  don't  see 
cl'ar  the  right  on  it,  and  if  I  say  to  you  that  he's 
to  go  back  scot-free,  why,  you  mus'  promise  to 
let  him  go." 

Bob  rested  his  appeal ;  the  negro  still   hesi- 


344  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

tated.    More  hopeful  from  Oscar's  silence,  Bob 
commenced  anew : 

*'  You  see,  Oscar,  we  mus^  have  proofs.  Gene- 
ral Carson' s  a-waitin'  in  New  York  for  Hartley, 
and  he's  in  as  big  a  stew  as  you  is  to  get  some 
'scuse  to  fight  the  villain  if  we  can't  hang  him. 
But  all  that's  a- wantin'  is  proofs;  and  if  you'll 
do  like  I  say,  why,  we'll  get  'em  and  hang  him, 
which  I'm  free  to  say  is  a  mean,  unsoldier-like 
way  to  finish  a  man.  But  then  this  scoundrel 
ain't  no  better 'n  a  dog." 

"It's  hard,  Marse  Bob — hard,  but  I  promise." 

"You  sw'ar  you  won't  kill  him  'cep'  I  tell  you. 
Mind,  I  leaves  you  free  from  your  promise  if  we 
finds  him  in  some  villany  whar  he  mus'  be  took 
or  let  go.     You  sw'  ar  ? " 

"Yes,  Marse  Bob,  I  sw'ar  by  the  Lord's  ven- 
geance I  won't  touch  him  'cep'  you  tell  me." 

Bob  held  out  his  hand,  which  Oscar  clasped. 

"Now,  Oscar,  we're  all  right.  I  can  'pend  on 
your  word,  which  is  mo'  'an  Fd  say  far  some 
white  folks.  Now  I'll  tell  you  the  balance  of 
my  findin's.  Cap' n  Hartley  stayed  at  that  tavern 
down  tbar  all  night."  He  pointed  to  a  house  in 
the  distance.  "  Fd  a-come  fur  you  in  the  niglit, 
but  I  was  'fraid  may  be  Marten  would  come  and 


"IPSO  jure:'  345 

they'  d  be  off  while  I  was  awaj^  So  I  stayed  about 
in  the  yard,  and  in  the  kitchen,  and  then  in  the 
stable.    The  little  sleep  I  got  I  took  listenin' . 

*'I  crep'  up  to  the  porch  whar  Hartley  was 
a-talkin'  with  the  landlord  jus'  'fore  he  went  to 
bed.  I  tell  you  it  giv'  me  a  start  all  over  when  I 
heard  him  ask  the  landlord  4f  he  knew  any  Irish 
folks  up  in  the  ridge  above  tliar  named  O'Dowd.' 
And  the  landlord  said  yes,  and  told  him  whar- 
' bouts  the  place  was  and  how  to  go. 

'^When  daylight  come  and  Marten  hadn't  I 
know'd  I  must  be  off.  Hartley  hadn' t  moved— I 
had  been  a-watchin'  his  room.  The  people  was 
jus'  gettin'  up  when  I  lef '  thar.  It' s  a  pretty  good 
walk,  fur  I  come  'round  through  the  woods  the 
way  the  landlord  told  Hartley  to  go.  I  wanted 
to  see  w^hich  way  he  was  a-goin'.  It  was  a  good 
thing  I  did.  I  know  now^  how  w^e  can  cross  the 
ridge  here  and  get  thar  befo'  he  does.  I  ain't 
a-goin'  in  till  he  comes.  I  don't  want  to  sheer 
off  whoever  is  a-waitin'  fur  him  ;  mos'  like  it's 
Marten.  We  must  take  the  p'ints  of  the  place 
and  get  close  up.  He  ain't  started  yet.  They 
was  a-goin'  to  feed  his  horse  and  he'll  mos'  like 
eat  his  breakfast.     Now  we'll  be  off." 

Bob  had  got  his  bearing,  and  an  hour's  fast 


34(5  THE  MODERS  HAG  AH, 

walk  brought  them  in  sight  of  the  place.  They 
had  gone  through  woods  and  iields  until  they 
could  see  the  old  house.  Then  they  crossed  the 
road  by  which  Hartley  must  come.  In  the  road 
they  met  a  countryman  driving  a  wagon  down 
toward  the  tavern.  Bob  questioned  him.  ''Yes, 
the  O'  Dowds  live  about  a  mile  and  a  half  aw^ay  ; 
go  the  straight  road — not  this  ;  that  to  the  right 
there — until  you  pass  a  bridge  over  a  branch,  and 
then  right  along  by  the  railroad  track,  and  you'll 
see  where  to  turn  \\\)  the  hill  to  the  house." 

They  walked  on  a  short  distance  until  the  man 
was  out  of  sight,  and  then  they  climbed  the  fence 
and  went  uj)  tlie  ridge  so  that  they  could  not  be 
seen  from  the  road.  They  soon  came  upon  a 
path  which  led  them  to  a  wooded  hill  behind 
the  house.  There  was  only  a  shelving  ravine  to 
cross,  in  which  they  would  be  sheltered  by  thick 
masses  of  laurel  which  screened  the  path  from 
sight.  Before  they  descended  into  the  ravine 
Bol)  took  the  field-glass  and  inspected  the  house. 

"Yes,  Oscar,  we' re  all  right ;  we've  come  in  right 
beliind  the  place.  We  can  get  close  up  to  that 
chimney  thar 'ithout  seein'  anybody.  Hartley's 
got  to  come  'round  by  the  railroad  and  up  the 
hill  in  front.     You  must  watch  fur  him  thar  at 


*'ipso  jure:'  347 

the  corner  of  the  house  whar  the  fence  begins, 
while  I  crawl  through  them  low  bushes  and  see 
if  thar's  anybody  in  that  old  shed  or  if  we  can 
get  in.  It's  a  mighty  good  thing  fur  lis  thar  ain'  t 
no  winders  this  side  of  the  house.  N'ow,  don  t 
make  no  noise  in  the  bushes.  Go  up  by  the 
chimney.  You  can  get  'round  to  the  corner  by 
the  fence  arf terwards.' ' 

They  cautiously  went  down  the  ravine,  and 
still  more  slowly  and  silently  climbed  up  to  the 
spot  Bob  had  selected.  The  path  which  they 
had  quitted  led  around  an  old  tumble-down  shed 
to  the  left. 

The  chimney  was  nearer  the  corner  to  the  right 
where  Oscar  was  to  be  stationed. 

Bob  motioned  to  Oscar  to  stop,  and  crept  past 
the  negro  to  the  fence.  He  had  thought  of  an 
unconsidered  possibility.  Hartley  might  not 
have  waited  for  breakfast,  and  he  might  be 
there. 

At  the  corner  of  the  house  he  could  not  see  the 
front  yard.  He  went  a  little  farther  and  was 
climbing  upon  tlie  fence  when  he  saw  a  horse 
hitched  at  the  post  down  the  hill.  Suddenly 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  shot  in  the  house,  of  a 
woman's  shriek,  and  the  duller  noise  of  a  heavy 


348  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

fall.  Bob  sprang  over  the  fence  as  he  called 
*' Oscar,"  and  then  rushed  around  to  the  door. 
At  the  same  instant  a  woman  with  a  shawl  about 
her  head  ran  around  in  the  opposite  direction 
from  which  Bob  was  coming  and  behind  the  shed. 
Before  Bob  was  on  the  steps  Oscar  had  overtaken 
him.  Bob  pushed  back  the  door,  which  the  fly- 
ing woman  had  left  partly  open. 

The  men  stopped  motionless  as  if  they  had 
seen  a  ghost. 

In  a  low  bed  in  one  corner  of  the  room  a  wo- 
man had  thrown  back  the  covers  and  was  sitting 
upright. 

She  had  a  pistol  in  her  hand  and  was  looking 
down  at  a  man  lying  motionless  on  the  floor. 

The  room  had  no  furniture  except  this  rough- 
ly-made couch,  an  unpainted  table,  and  two  or 
three  chairs.  There  were  a  few  chips  burning  on 
the  hearth. 

Between  the  fireplace  and  the  bed  was  a  strip  of 
woollen  carpeting.      On  that  the  man  was  lying. 

Bob  and  Oscar  had  recognized  the  woman  at 
the  first  glance. 

It  was  Rue. 

The  man  was  Hartley,  and  he  was  shot  through 
the  head. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Twelve  just  men  sat  in  judgment  upon  a  sinner  and  committed  mur- 
der. 

THE  personaliry  of  those  in  autliority  must  be 
dealt  with  discreetly,  so  I  shall  not  say  in 
which  of  the  three  States  already  indicated 
this  scene  was  acted. 

It  was  a  hot,  breezeless  day  the  first  week  in 
June.  The  court-room  of  the  little  country  town 
was  crowded.  This  was  the  third  day  of  the 
trial  of  the  man  who  had  been  apprehended  for 
the  murder  of  Captain  Hartley. 

The  defence  had  been  admirably  conducted, 
but  from  first  to  last  they  fought  a  losing  fight. 
Every  point  of  evidence  was  against  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar.  Even  his  character  as  proved  by  the 
defence  warranted  belief  in  the  possibility  of  his 
having  committed  the  crime  with  which  he  was 
charged.  General  Carson,  a  witness  for  the  de- 
fence, had  to  admit  in  the  cross-examination 
''that  the  prisoner  was  quarrelsome,  and  even 
dangerous,  when  he  had  been  drinking."     And 


350  THE  MODERy  HAGAR. 

the  testimony  of  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecu- 
tion left  no  doubt  that  he  had  been  drinking 
hard  two  weeks  before  the  murder. 

The  prosecution  in  the  summing-up  dwelt 
upon  the  facts  proved.  They  rej)eated  the  state- 
ment that  ^'the  j^risoner  at  the  bar  was  talven 
red-handed  in  the  commission  of  the  crime." 
They  insisted  that — 

"•  Not  a  link  has  failed  in  the  chain  of  evi- 
dence. Every  witness  called  by  the  defence  has 
helped  to  unravel  the  motive  of  the  crime  and  fas- 
ten the  guilt  upon  the  accused.  Motive  and  oppor- 
tunity are  proved,  and  the  murderer  was  arrested 
as  he  was  disposing  of  the  body  of  his  victim.  It 
is  possible  that  an  accessory  escai:)ed,  but  that  is 
immaterial  to  the  conviction  of  the  prisoner.  He 
came  alone  from  New  York  to  Port  Jervis.  He 
was  at  the  station  when  Captain  Hartley  arrived. 
He  seemed  to  be  sure  of  the  coming  of  his  victim. 
He  watched  for  him,  then  he  followed  him.  He 
told  the  witness  who  drove  with  him  from  Port 
Jervis  to  the  '  Valley  Tavern '  that  'the  man  he 
was  following  owed  him  a  debt  which  he  intended 
to  force  him  to  pay.'  In  one  sense  the  threaten- 
ing words  were  true.  It  was  the  debt  of  revenge 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  intended  to  collect.    That 


''IPSO  jure:'  351 

was  proved  in  the  testimony  of  the  gallant  officer 
who  has  so  reluctantly  told  the  story  of  the  pris- 
oner's old  grudge  against  an  officer  who  had 
punished  him  for  drunkenness.  But  the  most 
damning  evidence  is  that  of  the  witness  who  went 
with  him  from  Port  Jervis  :  ^  He  did  not  leant 
to  overtake  the  man  we  to  ere  following  ;  he  said 
he  only  wanted  to  keep  him  in  sight ;  and  ichen 
we  saw  him  dismount  at  the  tavern  the  prisoner 
paid  me  and  sent  me  hack^  saying  ''he  icoidd 
loalk  on  to  the  house  after  it  grew  darker'^  ' 

*'  Then  we  have  the  testimony  of  the  landloid 
and  of  his  sons.  They  could  not  induce  the  pris- 
oner to  come  into  the  house  to  his  supper.  He 
ate  it  and  paid  for  it  out  in  the  yard.  One  of 
the  boys  saw  him  walk  around  the  house  and 
lean  against  the  porch  railing,  where  he  could 
hear  the  landlord  giving  directions  to  Captain 
Hartley  as  to  the  route  he  was  to  take  going  to 
O'Dowd's.  The  prisoner  had  known  the  O'Dowds 
in  the  West,  and  it  is  certain  he  knew  where  they 
lived,  for  the  next  witness  is  the  one  who  met 
him  in  the  road  the  next  morning — the  morning 
Captain  Hartley  was  last  seen  alive — not  two 
miles  from  O'Dowd's  and  not  two  hundred  yards 
from  where  he  murdered  Captain  Hartley,  and 


352  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

where  he  was  arrested  the  next  day :  a  seclud- 
ed, secret  spot,  fit  scene  of  crime,  where  he  was 
replanting  the  laurel  beneath  which  he  had  hid- 
den his  victim.  The  negro  whom  the  witness  saw 
with  him  may  have  been  an  accomjDlice,  but  that 
does  not  lessen  the  guilt  of  the  man  we  have 
traced  step  by  step  to  the  scene  of  the  murder. 

*^But  there,  at  the  grave  into  which  the  coffin- 
less  corpse  was  hurriedly  thrown,  a  watchful 
Providence  gives  a  final  attestation  of  the  pris- 
oner's guilt.  The  last  proof — the  evidence  which 
fastens  the  deed  upon  the  murderer — is  furnished 
at  that  supreme  moment  by  the  prisoner  himself. 
He  resisted  arrest,  and  when  overx)owered  and 
searched  a  recently-discharged  pistol  is  found 
upon  him.  Skilled  experts  tell  us  the  ball  taken 
from  the  brain  of  the  victim  was  shot  from  that 
derringer — shot  by  some  one  close  behind  the 
man  he  murdered.  The  scorched  and  bloodless 
wound  was  made  by  an  unseen  enemy.  Gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  if  the  act  had  been  committed 
in  the  presence  of  witnesses  the  evidence  could 
not  have  been  more  clear  and  conclusive,  but  the 
crime  would  have  been  less.  It  would  not  then 
have  been  a  cold-blooded  assassination.''  * 

During  the  summing-up  of  the  prosecution  the 


"IPSOJTRB:-  353 

prisoner  had  followed  the  argument  with  con- 
stant, unwearied  attention ;  yet  in  the  interest 
which  he  exhibited  there  seemed  no  personal  so- 
licitude. It  was  as  if  he  were  listening  to  a  x)uz- 
zle  addressed  to  others,  to  a  riddle  which  they 
must  guess.  Once  or  twice  there  was  a  triumph- 
ant glance  in  the  reddish- brown  eyes  as  the 
prosecutor  fixed  the  attention  of  the  jury  with 
the  perfectness  of  the  cumulative  evidence.  It 
was  as  if  he  won  a  victory  in  the  very  exhibition 
of  the  proofs  which  were  likely  to  convict  him. 

Two  or  three  times  during  the  trial,  at  some 
queer  expression  of  one  of  the  frightened  coun- 
trymen, who  were  badgered  into  self-contradic- 
tion and  plucked  of  the  truths  they  uncon- 
sciously withheld,  Bob  laughed  outright.  It 
was  a  rolling,  full,  mellow,  infectious  laugh,  and 
called  always  a  hearty,  responsive  echo  from  the 
audience,  who  would  laugh  with  him  and  then 
look  at  him  in  half -surprised  and  half- stolid 
amazement,  wondering  how  a  man  could  laugh 
at  words  which  struck  at  his  life. 

Ah !  they  did  not  know  that  the  last  heavy 
heartache  of  Bob's  life  ended  when  he  found 
that  "Capin  Rue''  had  not  died  in  that  horrible 
furnace. 


354  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Still  less  could  tliey  understand  that  his  anx- 
iety for  her  further  safety  was  quieted  by  his 
own  danger. 

Carson  and  Pike,  who  had  come  as  soon  as 
they  knew  of  his  arrest  to  do  all  they  could  to 
save  or  to  console  him,  did  not  know  how  to  read 
Bob' s  newly-recovered  brightness.  For  not  even 
to  Carson  or  Pike  had  he  told  the  story  of  Rue's 
escape. 

Poor  Bob  had  very  clouded  ideas  of  law  and 
justice.  He  knew  a  man  could  only  once  be  put 
in  peril  of  his  life  by  his  trial  on  a  criminal  accu- 
sation, and  through  some  twist  of  reasoning  he 
believed  that  when  law  once  found  a  victim  and 
condemned  him  law  was  satisfied  with  the  forfeit 
the  victim  paid. 

Believing  this,  the  vindictive  eloquence  of  the 
prosecutor  was  a  positive  delight  to  Bob.  After 
one  of  the  most  bitterly  accusative  bursts  of  that 
zealous  official  he  was  somewhat  startled  by  the 
prisoner's  look  of  serene  content. 

From  the  day  of  his  incarceration  in  the  jail 
Stearns  had  refused  to  utter  a  word  of  explana- 
tion in  his  own  defence.  At  the  moment  of  his 
arrest  he  had  knocked  down  a  constable.  But 
when  he  lieard  a  bystander  say,  ''Let  us  help 


"  IPSO  jure:'  355 

the  officer ;  tlie  proof  is  plain  this  man  has  com- 
mitted a  murder,"  Bob's  humor  instantly  changed 
from  rage  to  gentleness.  After  that  instant  his 
only  fear  was  that  Oscar,  hearing  of  his  danger, 
would  return,  and  then  the  fact  that  Rue  was 
living  and  that  she  had  killed  Hartley  w^ould  be 
known.  He  had  risked  life  to  save  her  more 
than  once.  Why  should  he  hesitate  now  ?  He 
had  an  instinctive  horror  of  hanging ;  but  then, 
he  asked  himself,  w^hat  was  his  hanging  to  her 
danger  ? 

He  had  been  one  of  that  military  guard  in 
Washington  just  after  the  war  wdien  a  woman 
was  hung — sl  woman  upon  whom  only  the  sha- 
dow of  a  crime  was  thrown  ;  a  woman  believed 
to  be  innocent  at  the  time,  and  afterwards  proved 
to  have  been  innocent.  Night  and  day  for  the 
few  weeks  before  his  trial  Bob  thought  of 
that  horrible  execution — hurried  on  to  appease  a 
vengeful  cry  wdiich  only  hushed  after  the  hang- 
man tied  his  fatal  knot  about  the  throat  of  the 
condemned.  He  remembered  the  w^oman's  x'^i- 
lid  face  with  its  crown  of  gray  hair,  and  how  the 
assistants  had  lifted  the  limp,  trembling  body 
and  carried  her,  already  dying,  to  the  gal- 
lows. 


356  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

Yes ;  why  should  he  not  laugh  and  be  glad  as 
this  trial  went  on  ? 

The  child  of  the  dearest  friends  he  had  ever 
known,  the  child  he  loved  with  all  the  devotion 
and  singleness  of  heart  which  characterized  his 
simple,  faithful  nature,  would  be  saved  through 
his  conviction. 

What  mattered  his  death,  if  it  purchased  a 
dearer  life  ?  Why,  if  he  had  a  hundred  lives  he 
would  have  given  them  all  tliat  a  Leszinksky 
might  not  be  held  up  to  the  world  as  a  criminal ! 

The  advocate  Carson  had  engaged  to  defend 
Bob  had  a  wide  experience  of  criminal  cases  and 
of  criminals.  Yet  his  exxDerience  did  not  help 
him  to  understand  his  client.  Where  his  expe- 
rience failed  his  sympathies  enlightened  him. 

He  happened  to  look  at  Bob  Avhen  he  \^'as 
about  to  close  his  argument.  It  was  as  if  a 
lightning  flash  had  brought  into  the  inky  dark- 
ness the  splendor  of  its  rapid  revelation.  He 
knew  that  which  he  saw,  and  knew  also  that  his 
doubts  had  been  leading  him  to  the  truth,  else  he 
would  not  have  found  it  in  that  instantaneous 
exchange  of  glances. 

^'The  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  a  voluntary  vic- 
tim ;    he  is  sheltering  some  one  else  from  sua- 


''IPSO  jure:'  357 

picion."  The  pause  in  his  speech,  the  conviction 
of  the  truth,  was  so  sudden  that  it  was  wonderful 
the  advocate  did  not  say  his  thought  aloud. 

The  admirable  training  of  his  profession  helped 
him  through  this  upsetting  of  all  his  previous 
beliefs  and  gave  him  ready  control  of  himself. 
With  a  slight  cough  he  turned  to  the  table  and 
waited  a  few  minutes  while  pouring  out  and  af- 
fecting to  drink  a  glass  of  water. 

The  pause  was  long  enough.  Until  now  the 
lawyer  had  fought  for  acquittal.  But  now  he 
must  fight  to  introduce  doubt  into  the  jury-box. 
It  was  his  forlorn  hope.  He  w^ould  no  longer  try 
to  attack  but  to  undermine  the  circumstantial 
evidence. 

It  was  a  long  and  masterly  argument.  Case 
after  case  was  cited  to  prove  how  honest  witness- 
es had  s^vorn  away  lives  ;  how  sight  and  hear- 
ing may  deceive  ;  and  how  the  most  natural  and 
simple  action  may  be  put  in  such  a  false  light 
that  it  takes  the  very  complexion  and  hue  of 
guilt.  Every  glance  at  his  client  as  he  reviewed 
the  mistakes  of  the  law  gave  him  stronger  assu- 
rance of  his  innocence. 

Then  the  advocate  threw  away  quibbles  and 
addressed  himself  to  conscience  and  to  the  hu- 


3o8  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

numity  that  is  in  man.  His  feelings  nerved  his 
zeal  as  his  own  reasoning  made  him  understand 
that  the  calculating,  murderous  vengeance  of  law 
v;hicli  arrogates  God's  right  in  the  life  or  death 
of  his  creatures  is  a  greater  crime  than  the  rash 
deed  of  blind,  unreasoning  passion.  As  he 
enunciated  this  truth,  which  the  nineteenth 
century  barbarously  denies  in  every  elevation  of 
the  gibbet,  he  watched  his  client  and  saw  that  it 
struck  his  intelligence  and  his  heart,  but  he  being 
guiltless,  it  did  not  strike  his  conscience.  Bob 
believed  with  him  ;  for  Bob  was  to  himseK  an  il- 
lustration of  one  of  the  law's  mistakes.  So  he 
listened  with  a  growing  and  awed  understanding 
of  the  greater  wrong  it  has  done  in  its  usurpation 
of  an  awful  function  which  belongs  to  Omnis- 
cience. 

The  advocate  was  no  longer  a  mere  expounder 
of  human  law  while  he  defended  a  man  accused 
of  a  crime.  He  was  the  champion  of  eternal  truth 
and  of  divine  mercy.  The  effect  upon  the  au- 
dience was  that  which  truth,  feelingly  presented, 
always  has.  Women  w^ept  and  men  shaded 
their  faces  from  the  inquisitive  light  as  the  ear- 
nest orator  in  his  closing  sentences  urged  the 
terrible   responsibility  of   taking    a    man's  life 


''IPSO  jure:-  359 

without  more  direct  proof,  and  brought  to  every 
softened  heart  the  possibility  of  mistake  : 

"Not  an  eye  saw  the  murder.  Not  a  Avitne^s 
can  swear  that  this  is  the  man.  I  acknowledge 
that  there  is  around  him  a  curious  twisting  of  niib-- 
leading  circumstances.  But  in  the  cases  cited  you 
see  how  false  and  how  fatal  was  such  evidence. 
Turn  from  tliose  accusing  circumstances  to  the 
man  himself.  Look  at  the  prisoner  !  You  see  an 
honest,  frank,  soldierly  face,  furrowed  by  time, 
weather-beaten,  and  marked  by  many  wars  ;  for 
he  has  grown  old  in  the  service  of  his  country. 
For  over  thirty  years  he  was  a  scout,  tried,  fear- 
less, true — a  soldier,  loyal,  courageous,  and  merci- 
ful. You  have  heard  his  officers  and  his  comrade 
describe  Lim.  General  Carson,  whose  deeds  have 
made  you  familiar  with  the  name  which  is  writ- 
ten in  many  a  glorious  page  of  his  country' s  his- 
tory, has  testified  to  the  character  of  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar.  You  heard  tlie  words  :  ^I  have 
never  known  a  more  faithful  or  braver  soldier, 
never  a  bolder  or  more  truthful  and  honest  man. 
His  devotion  to  the  child  of  an  officer  who  was 
stolen  by  the  Indians  words  would  but  faintly 
express.  When  the  regiment  was  forced  back 
by   a  disastrous  fight  he  followed  her  into  the 


360  THE  3I0DERN  IIAGAR. 

heart  of  the  Comanche  country,  and  through 
his  coolness  and  unflinching  resolution  she  was 
restored  to  her  friends.'  Then  his  colonel  told 
us  the  history  of  the  accused  as  he  knew  it,  and 
of  his  behavior  in  the  late  Avar :  '  He  was  a  so- 
ber, reliable  sergeant ;  if  he  had  been  an  educat- 
ed man  his  promotion  would  have  been  sure  and 
rapid.  He  was  obedient  to  orders  and  fearless  in 
battle.  At  Bull  Run  he  saved  the  regimental 
colors.  At  Ball's  Bluff,  where  my  horse  was 
shot  under  me  and  I  was  severely  wounded,  he 
came  to  my  rescue.  He  found  me  a  remount,  and, 
swimming  by  my  side,  brought  me  safely  across 
the  river.' 

' '  And  to  reward  such  a  life  of  service  the  pro  • 
secution  asks  you  to  convict  this  man  ! 

*' Strangle  him  !  because  he  saved  your  coun- 
try's flag  upon  a  lost  battle-field. 

"Hang  him!  for  that  daring  rescue,  for  his 
gallant  passage  of  that  bloody  and  fatal  river. 

"You  have  heard  his  comrade,  that  crippled 
missionary  to  the  Indians,  himself  the  bravest  of 
the  brave,  tell  the  story  of  their  life  on  the 
plains— of  '  perilous  ventures  and  of  dangers 
shared,'  of  mischances  by  flood  and  field,  and 
of  that  most  desperate  venture  of  all  when  the 


''IPSO  jure:-  361 

prisoner,  witli  a  few  friendly  Indians,  rode  into 
tlie  Comanclie  village  and  saved  the  life  of  his 
friend  when  he  was  already  burning  at  the  stake. 
Do  you  believe  a  man  who  dared  such  odds 
would  stealthily  assassinate  an  unwarned  and 
solitary  traveller  ? 

"  But  the  prosecution,  to  destroy  the  effect  of 
the  character  of  this  man  as  it  has  been  proved, 
tells  you  :  '  He  was  drinking.'  If  that  is  true — 
but  it  is  not — you  are  asked  to  hang  him  because 
law  gave  the  liquor-dealer  a  license  to  poison  a 
man's  brain  and  destroy  his  consciousness  of 
right  and  wrong— to  prepare  him  for  the  com- 
mission of  a  crime  for  which  law  afterwards 
holds  him  responsible.  This  may  be  law,  but  is 
it  justice  ? 

^'If  you  do  this  evil  thing  you  are  asked  to 
do  ;  if  you  send  this  brave,  gallant,  innocent  man 
to  the  gallows — for  I  swear  to  you  I  believe  him 
innocent  of  this  murder ;  if  you  take  it  upon 
your  consciences  to  say  he  is  guilty  because  he  is 
tied  by  the  threads  of  accident ;  if  you  consent 
to  'the  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off,'  do 
you  not  dread  the  N'emesis  who  stalks  the  steps 
of  the  wilful  shedder  of  innocent  blood  ? 

"  You  know  that  which  you  do.     There  is  no 


363  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

excuse,  even  of  drunkenness,  for  your  sentence. 
You  are  to  be  cool,  observing,  dispassionate. 
You  are  to  do  justice  and  show  mercy,  not  to 
give  a  victim  to  the  Thugs  of  injustice. 

"  You  are  not  as  gods.  You  cannot  read  the 
past  nor  can  you  foretell  the  future.  The  real 
murderer  may  crouch  in  this  court-room  unseen 
by  you.  Conscience  may  finally  bring  him  to  a 
confession  which  will  convict  you  of  the  death  of 
the  innocent,  or  he  may  walk  scathless  in  the 
sunlight  for  long  years  after  you  have  dug  the 
grave  of  the  guiltless  victim  of  error.  But  your 
doubts  will  haunt  you  day  after  day  and  night 
after  night. 

''  Once  again  I  ask  you,  Look  in  that  face  ! 
The  prisoner  at  the  bar  may,  in  that  unselfish, 
superb  devotion  of  which  we  have  heard  that  he 
is  cai)able,  be  sheltering  a  friend  by  his  silence  ; 
but  I  know  he  is  not  the  murderer. 

*' Circumstances  are  the  veriest  liars,  but  the 
soul  writes  in  unmistakable  characters  upon  the 
faces  of  men.  Can  you  look  upon  that  face  and 
believe  it  to  be  the  face  of  an  assassin  ?  It  is  a 
face  sensitive  to  praise  but  fearless  of  assault. 
I  have  watched  it  closely  during  this  trial,  .-.nd  I 
have  seen  tliat  it  was  as  trustiiig  apd  open,  as  free 


''IPSO  JURE."  3C3 

from  revenge  and  murderous  intent,  as  the  face 
of  a  little  child.  I  beg  of  you  for  your  own 
sakes  distrust  circumstances.  What  assurance 
have  you  that  the  child  you  love,  the  nursling 
upon  your  wife's  breast,  the  boy  who  looks  at 
you  with  clear,  honest  eyes,  may  not  be  choked 
by  circumstance  for  the  sin  committed  by  an- 
other ? 

"  Can  you  convict  this  man — who  braved  dan- 
ger, and  captivity,  and  torture,  and  death  to  save 
a  little  child — and  feel  that  your  conscience  is 
clear  of  crime  ?  When  you  kiss  the  smiling  lips 
of  the  little  daughter  who  comes  to  meet  you 
when  this  trial  is  ended,  will  you  not  remember 
the  measure  of  reward  you  have  meted  here  to  a 
child-saver  ? 

''  What  news  of  good  or  evil  will  you  tell  your 
wife  ?  Will  you  tell  the  brave  deeds  of  this  sol- 
dier to  the  boy  who  laughs  with  joy  as  he  shouts, 
'Father'?" 

From  the  first  the  advocate  had  the  sympathy 
of  the  audience.  He  had  touched  the  hearts  of 
some  of  the  jurors.  But  there  were  others  in  the 
jury-box,  professing  Christians,  ready  to  give  the 
lie  to  the  promptings  of  humanity  and  the  teach- 
ing of  Christ — men  who  would  rigidly  exact   a 


3G4  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"tooth  for  a  tooth  and  an  eye  for  an  eye,"  and  if 
they  were  blinded  by  their  own  loss  were  ready 
to  clutch  at  the  nearest  and  cry:  *'This  is  he 
that  did  it." 

Another  thing  against  the  prisoner  was  the 
after  summing-up  of  the  prosecution  (the  last 
words  of  which  I  have  already  given).  It  was 
deadly  to  the  defence,  for  the  merciful  scruples 
of  the  few  were  soon  talked  away.  With  the 
ordinary  juryman  the  last  speaker  has  an  im- 
mense advantage ;  and  law,  in  thus  shutting  off 
the  defence,  prearranges  the  conviction  of  the  ac- 
cused. 

The  judge  was  a  hanging  judge.  His  charge 
was  short  and  leaned,  as  far  as  a  charge  decently 
could,  toward  conviction.  He  was  anxious  for 
the  jury  to  be  instantly  agreed.  He  was  in  haste 
to  go  to  his  son''s  wedding. 

At  four  o'clock  the  jury  retired.  At  five  the 
weak  had  succumbed. 

The  verdict  was — Guilty  ! 

In  his  indecorous  haste  the  judge  was  sparing 
of  words.  He  sentenced  the  prisoner  ''to  be 
hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  was  dead"  on  the 
first  Friday  in  the  next  month. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

"  "Woe  unto  us !  for  the  day  goeth  away,  for  the  shadows  of  the  evening 
are  stretched  out,  .  .  .  and  from  the  prophet  even  unto  the  priest  every 
one  dealeth  falsely.  They  have  healed  also  the  hurt  of  the  daughter  of  my 
people  slightly,  saying.  Peace,  peace,  when  there  is  no  peace.  ...  for  1 
have  heard  a  voice  as  of  a  woman  in  travail,  and  the  anguish  as  of  her 
that  bringeth  forth  her  first  child,  .  .  .  saying,  Woe  is  me  now,  for  my 
soul  is  wearied  because  of  murderers." 

IN  April,  at  the  time  of  the  burial  of  the  remains 
found  at  Carr's  Rock,  Kate  came  with  Rob- 
ert Carisbrooke  to  ''The  Cedars,"  where  were 
General  Carson,  the  doctor,  and  Mrs.  Carisbrooke. 
The  evening  after  the  funeral  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 
and  Kate  went  to  Philadelphia  to  see  Steenie,  who 
was  very  ill.  The  mere  mention  of  their  arri- 
val had  such  an  effect  upon  the  sensitive  girl, 
who  seemed  in  the  crisis  of  some  strange  ner- 
vous malady,  that  the  physicians  insisted  she 
should  not  see  these  visitors  ;  they  said  it  would 
bring  a  fresh  sense  of  her  loss— a  return  of  the 
harrowing  grief  which  was  caused  by  the  manner 
of  her  sister's  death.  In  fact,  to  avoid  all  such 
meetings    or   memories    they  advised    Steenie' s 

865 


366  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

being  taken  abroad.  Before  Mrs.  Carisbrooke 
and  Kate  left  for  Cincinnati  everything  was  ar- 
ranged for  Steenie's  departure  as  soon  as  her 
health  sliould  be  re-established.  Madame  De- 
tontville  and  "Mammy  Sara"  were  to  accom- 
pany her. 

The  gentlemen  at  ''  The  Cedars  "  were  engaged 
in  daily  consultations  with  the  attorneys  for  "  the 
Cartaret  estate. ' ' 

Unless  Hartley  relinquished  the  deed  of  trans- 
fer which  Kate  had  unwittingly  signed  he  would 
be  the  absolute  owner  of  Rue's  inheritance.  This 
fact,  unwelcome  to  Doctor  Carisbrooke  and  his 
brother,  was  gall  and  w^ormwood  to  Carson. 
Without  any  apparent  reason  for  his  suspicion 
Carson  constantly  referred  to  Hartley  as  the 
*' author  of  the  accident  at  Carrs  Rock." 

The  railroad  officials  were  unable  to  explain 
the  breaking  of  the  rail.  Careful  examination 
proved  that  it  was  not  defective — that  the  break 
was  recent.  It  was  evident  from  the  angle  of 
deflection  and  the  jagged  edges  of  the  twisted 
splint  that  it  was  broken  either  just  before  or 
at  the  moment  of  the  accident.  Upon  these  ap- 
parently insignificant  facts  Carson  built  his  be- 
lief, and,  as  we   know,   began  an   investigation, 


''IPSO  JURE."  367 

which  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  ^'  the  Hart- 
ley MURDER." 

The  announcement  of  this  new  crime  in  the 
New  York  papers  was  the  first  intimation  the 
trustees  of  'Uhe  Cartaret  estate"  had  of  Hart- 
ley's return  from  Europe. 

The  circumstances  of  the  murder,  as  he  under- 
stood those  circumstances,  and  the  time  and 
place  where  the  body  was  found,  som.ewhat  justi- 
fied Carson's  suspicion.  This  suspicion  grew  into 
an  article  of  belief  with  both  Carson  and  Robert 
Carisbrooke  when  the  fact  transpired  that  Hart- 
ley had  arrived  in  New  York,  via  Liverpool 
and  Montreal,  the  week  before  that  fatal  ac- 
cident. 

But  in  no  way  could  the  proof  of  Hartley's 
crime  assist  the  innocent  victim  the  law  had  con- 
demned. If  all  Carson's  beliefs  had  been  proved 
upon  the  trial,  court  and  jury  would  have* re- 
garded them  as  additional  evidence  of  Bob's  guilt. 
It  would  but  have  strengthened  the  theory  of  the 
prosecution  as  to  ''revengeful  motives." 

In  fruitless  effort  for  Bob's  pardon  or  a  re- 
prieve the  days  went  on  until  the  first  Thursday 
in  July — the  day  before  the  one  appointed  for 
the  execution. 


368  THE  3I0DERN  IIAGAR, 

Kate  was  staying  at  Rosebank. 

The  doctor  came  up  *'tlie  liill "  at  noon  with 
letters  from  Carson,  who  wrote  as  if  he  were 
liopeless  of  any  happy  turn  in  Bob's  affairs  un- 
less that  obstinate,  self -selected  victim  of  justice 
could  be  persuaded  to  trust  his  friends  with  the 
secret  which  it  was  evident  he  was  keeping. 

This  was  the  news  which  the  doctor  read  to 
Mrs.  Carisbrooke,  Kate,  and  Molly  on  the  shady 
piazza,  but  which  Molly  scarcely  heard,  so  ab- 
sorbed was  she  in  the  large,  straggling  sentences 
which  covered  the  many  sheets  of  her  own  pri- 
vate despatch. 

When  the  doctor  had  finished  his  reading  he 
asked  :  ^' Molly,  does  Carson  say  anything  to  you 
of  his  belief  as  to  who  was  the  murderer  of  Cap- 
tain Hartley  ?' ' 

''Yes,  papa."  With  a  glance  at  Kate  she 
stopped. 

Kate.  "Your  hesitation  troubles  me,  Molly. 
I  trust  the  truth,  whatever  it  is,  may  be  told  me. 
Truth  never  hurts  as  deeply  as  concealment." 

Molly.  ''  I  do  not  doubt  your  courage  or  en- 
durance. Cousin  Kate,  but  these  surmises  of  my 
liusband — they  are  only  surmises — might  give 
you  needless  pain." 


''IPSO  jure:*  369 

Kate.  ^^Any  pain  which  would  prove  to  me 
that  poor  Bob  is  guiltless  I  would  welcome.  I 
have  not  forgotten  how  devoted  he  was  to  Rue — 
to  all  the  Leszinkskys.  Please  tell  your  news, 
Molly." 

Molly  turned  the  loose  leaves  rather  nervously 
for  so  calm  and  self -poised  a  character,  as  Sie 
answered:  ''General  Carson  thinks  that  Oscar 
killed  Captain  Hartley." 

Kate.    '' Oscar  r' 

Molly.  ''Yes,  Oscar.  Two  days  before  the 
murder  Bob  was  with  my  husband  in  New  York. 
Bob  left  there  to  join  Oscar,  who  was  waiting  for 
him  near  the  station  beyond  Carr's  Rock.  They 
had  never  found  the  O'Dowds,  although  they  had 
been  constantly  looking  for  their  place  in  the 
search  Avhich  they  were  making  for  Lucy  before 
Rue— died." 

The  look  in  Molly's  face  showed  how  this  al- 
lusion, this  touch  of  a  grievous  wound,  hurt, 
but  she  steadily  continued  : 

"General  Carson  is  sure  Bob  met  Oscar  after 
he  left  the  inn  ;  Bob  must  have  told  Oscar 
that  Captain  Hartley  was  there  on  his  way  to  the 
O'Dowd's.  My  husband  says  :  '  Oscar  is  a  fatal- 
ist, and  years  ago  he  declared  to  me  that  if  the 


3  :0  THE  3I0DERN  HA  GAR. 

Lord  ever  delivered  Captain  Hartley  into  his 
hands  he  would  kill  liim  ! '  " 

Kate.  '^  What  wrong  had  Captain  Hartley 
done  him  ? " 

Molly.  ^^I  do  not  know,  Cousin  Kate,  if  you 
ever  heard  that  Lucy  was  Oscar's  wife." 

kate.  **No,  I  never  knew — "  She  stopped 
abruptly. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  In  a  glance  of  ap- 
peal Molly  begged  her  father  to  tell  the  story  ; 
a  negative  gesture  compelled  her  to  continue  : 

^'My  husband  says  further:  'Oscar  always 
believed  a  time  of  payment — a  time  when  re- 
venge should  be  a  duty — would  come,  and  the 
debt  has  steadily  increased.'  Oscar  knew  of 
Lucy's  later  wrong  when  she  was  separated 
from  her  child  and  sold  as  a  slave." 

The  change  in  Kate's  face,  its  deadly  pallor, 
hushed  Molly's  reluctant  words,  until  Kate 
asked  : 

' '  Go  on,  please,  Molly.  I  must  hear  all.  No 
one  can  shield  me  from  this  sorrow  or  help  me 
bear  it.  Even  here  in  this  world  '  our  sins  find 
us  out.'  " 

As  she  was  speaking  Kate's  hands  were  held 
out  in  entreaty.     She  knew  she  would  be  struck, 


''IPSO  jure:  371 

be  punished,  by  the  words  which  were  coming ; 
but  they  could  not  wound  her  more  severely 
than  did  the  thought  of  her  share  in  the  sin 
which  was  bearing  such  bitter  fruit. 

Kate' s  appeal  forced  a  continuation  of  Molly' s 
readings  from  Carson's  letter  and  of  Molly's  ex- 
planation of  the  text :  *'  Oscar's  devotion  to  his 
master  and  to  his  master's  child  was  absolute  ; 
so  there  were  later  and  almost  stronger  reasons  for 
his  hate  than  his  own  wrongs  or  Lucy's."  Molly 
turned,  tbe  pages  to  make  them  tell  the  story. 
*^My  husband  says  further  'that  although  there 
is  no  tangible  proof  which  the  law  would  accept 
or  admit  as  evidence,'  he  believes  and  Bob  and 
Oscar  believe  that,  either  personally  or  by  pro- 
curement. Captain  Hartley  caused  the  accident 
at  Carr's  Rock." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  "  cried  Kate.  The  plead- 
ing hands  were  held  above  a  bowed  head.  The 
meek  expression  of  surrender  and  acceptance  of 
the  inevitable  which  was  expressed  in  Kate's 
attitude  touched  Molly  so  deeply  that  speech 
failed  her.     Again  the  whispered  question  came  : 

"For  what  reason— for  wdiat  reason?  O  Dr. 
Carisbrooke  !  will  you  not  tell  me  ?  " 

Dr.  CarishrooJie.   "Remember  it  is  not  proved. 


372  TKE  MODERN  EAGAR. 

It  only  seems  proved  to  those  whose  prejudices 
may  blind  their  judgment." 

Kate.  "O  Dr.  Carisbrooke  !  what  reason  could 
there  be  ?  Why  does  General  Carson  think  this  ?  " 

Dr.  Carisbrooke.  "  Past  crimes  point  to  a  new 
one  when  there  is  motive  for  crime.  Rue  dead, 
Captain  Hartley  would  succeed  to  the  inheritance 
he  secured  in  j^our  deed  of  transfer." 

Kate  was  on  her  feet,  staggering  under  this  last 
blow  like  some  one  suddenly  struck  blind.  They 
all  gathered  about  her.  Sure  of  being  under- 
stood by  the  young  mother,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  Molly,  gasping  brokenly  :  ''0  my  baby  ! 
my  baby  I     He  Avas  your  father !  " 

A  servant  came  hastily  to  the  steps  of  the 
piazza:  "Doctor,  a  woman  is  lying  dead  under 
a  tree  in  the  orchard  near  the  cottage." 

At  Mrs.  Carisbrooke' s  quick  cry,  "It  is  Lucy  ! 
I  know  it  is  Lucy  ! "  Kate  glided  from  Molly's 
encircling  arms  and  was  gone.  They  quickly 
followed  the  lead  of  the  slender  feet  which  were 
running  in  the  way  of  repentance  and  of  mercy. 
When  the  Carisbrookes  reached  the  cottage  Kate 
was  sitting  under  the  tree  that  shaded  the  door- 
step, holding  in  her  arms  the  shrunken,  w^asted 
form  of  the  death- stricken  woman. 


''IPSO  JURE."  373 

She  was  not  dead,  but  she  was  dying,  this 
poor,  storm- tossed  Hagar. 

The  pallid  face  was  resting  upon  Kate's  breast. 
There  was  a  half- frightened  yet  strange  look  of 
happiness  in  the  beautiful  brown  eyes  which 
were  watching  the  tears  that  gathered  and  fell 
from  the  long,  dark  lashes  of  the  starry  eyes 
which  shone  with  tender  light  upon  her. 

Dr.  Carisbrooke  took  tlie  little,  withered  hand 
and  counted  the  pulse-beats.  Then  he  gave  low- 
spoken  directions  to  his  wife  and  Molly,  and  soon 
the  cottage  was  open  and  ready  for  the  tenant 
who  was  to  make  but  short  stay  there  before 
she  started  on  her  last  lonely  journey. 

While  the  hurried  preparation  at  the  cottage 
was  being  made  the  doctor  went  to  his  office  for 
needed  restoratives. 

During  the  brief  space  of  his  absence  Kate  was 
alone  with  Lucy.  Only  Lucy  heard  Kate's  con- 
fession of  wrong  and  her  prayer  for  forgiveness. 
The  words  spoken  were  few  and  simple,  but  they 
were  levers  that  lifted  a  heavy  weight  from  two 
suffering  souls.  When  all  was  ready  Kate  car- 
ried Lucy  into  the  cottage  ;  then,  kissing  the  pale 
lips  of  the  fainting  ''  Hagar,"  she  was  gone.  All 
that  long,   hot  afternoon   the   doctor  was   busy 


3  74  THE  MODERN  HA  OAR. 

with  the  patient,  whose  strength  was  going  in 
constant  effort  at  speech.  At  last  he  caught  the 
meaning  of  the  broken  sentences,  and  his  ques- 
tions were  answered  in  intelligible  but  mono- 
syllabic replies.  Giving  Lucy  a  stimulant  to  sus- 
tain her  during  the  fast-going  hours,  which  must 
now  be  hoarded  to  save  the  innocent,  the  doctor 
sent  in  haste  for  Horry,  who  lived  near  by,  for  a 
magistrate,  and  for  Grandison. 

Lucy  was  so  near  death  that  the  questioning 
was  brief  ;  but  it  was  evident  to  all  the  assistants 
that  she  had  a  perfectly  clear  and  sane  recollec- 
tion of  the  events  which  had  occurred  since  she 
left  Rosebank  in  February ;  she  had  a  rational 
memory  of  her  delusions,  while  thoroughly  re- 
cognizing them  as  the  delusions  of  her  insane 
moments.  It  was  as  if  one  were  telling  the 
feverish  dreams  which  had  filled  the  hours  of  a 
broken  and  troubled  sleep. 

This  is  the  history  of  her  wanderings,  as  de- 
veloi^ed  in  the  questions  and  answers  of  that 
dying  declaration : 

When  Lucy  left  E-osebank  she  liad  gone  to  the 
O'Dowds'.  The  change  and  the  journey  quieted 
her  and  brought  her  out  of  the  mist  of  her  dis- 
tempered fancies.     There  was  trouble  and  illness 


''IPSO  jure:'  375 

at  the  O'Dowds',  and  in  care  for  the  sick  Lucy 
forgot  herself.  Two  of  Mary  0'  Dowd'  s  children 
were  ill  with  the  small-pox  in  Philadelphia  at  the 
house  of  a  married  sister.  The  youngest  son  had 
come  to  the  cabin  in  the  hills  for  his  mother. 
He  was  taken  with  small-pox  the  night  of  his 
arrival.  Before  he  recovered  his  mother  caught 
the  infection.  The  boy  was  soon  well  and  had 
gone  back  to  Philadelphia,  and  his  mother,  who 
was  recovering  rapidly,  was  to  leave  Lucy  to 
care  for  the  house  while  she  visited  her  chil- 
dren. The  night  before  Mary  O'Bowd's  depar- 
ture Lucy  heard  some  one  moaning  at  the  door. 
Worn  out  wdth  the  long  nursing  and  frightened 
with  the  sudden  aw^akening,  a  new  delusion  took 
possession  of  Lucy.  She  thought  she  heard 
Mai's  voice  calling  in  the  distance,  "Mother! 
mother !  "  When  she  opened  the  door  a  woman 
was  lying  on  the  steps. 

What  followed  I  will  give  in  the  words  in 
which  Dr.  Carisbrooke  told  the  story  to  his  wife  : 

"  Lucy  is  perfectly  sane.  It  is  the  final  quick- 
ening of  the  intelligence  which  nearly  always 
precedes  the  death  of  a  person  who  has  been  par- 
tially insane.  I  tell  you  this  to  prepare  you  for 
a  startling  revelation.     The  woman  on  the  door- 


376  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

steps—''  His  wife  interrupted  :  "  O  Carisbrooke, 
it  was  Rue  !  Rue  is  living — Rue  !  I  see  tlie  an- 
swer in  your  eyes." 

"Virginia,  I  am  half  afraid  of  your  sanity. 
Your  reconstruction  of  dead  ancestors  and  your 
gift  of  prophecy,  your  divination  of  mysteries, 
is  likely  to  twist  your  remarkably  fine  under- 
standing into  a  fatal  snarl." 

'^But  it  was  Rue,  Carisbrooke?" 

''Yes,  it  was  Rue." 

"Where  is  she  now,  Carisbrooke?  Not  at 
the  O'Dowds',  or  they  would  liave  found  her  at 
the  time  Hartley  was  murdered.  Carson  w^ould 
surely  have  found  her.     Where  is  she  ? ' ' 

"  Just  there,  Virginia,  is  the  puzzle.  Here  is 
something  Lucy  gave  me.  It  is  a  visible  proof 
of  Rue's  existence,  for  Lucy  took  it  from  Rue 
when  she  undressed  her." 

He  put  in  his  wife's  hand  a  brooch  of  chased 
gold.  It  was  one  they  both  knew.  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke touched  a  spring.  Looking  upon  the 
painted  miniature  of  Stanislaus  Leszinksky,  she 
said : 

"  Cannot  Lucy  tell  where  Rue  is  ? " 

"No.  Lucy's  delusion  was  t\\^t  Mai  hrougJit 
Hue  to  the  cabin  to  save  her  from  a  threatening 


''IPSO  jure:'  377 

danger.  Either  something  she  had  heard  or  else 
a  clairvoyant  sense  of  Hartley's  purpose  pointed 
out  the  one  to  be  feared, 

''Rue  was  in  a  state  of  half -consciousness. 
Lucy  says  she  had  a  cut  on  the  temple  and 
another  on  the  back  of  her  head.  There  must 
have  been  some  injury — probably  concussion  of 
the  brain. 

*'  Mary  O'Dowd  had  gone  to  Philadelphia  with- 
out knowing  who  was  the  stranger  that  Lucy  had 
taken  in.  Rue  had  been  three  weeks  at  the  cabin 
in  a  half -dazed,  semi-conscious  condition,  when 
one  night  she  became  feverish  and  restless.  I 
think  it  possible  she  was  taking  the  small-pox. 
At  daylight  she  grew  more  composed  and  quiet. 
Lucy  had  gone  to  an  inner  room ;  she  had  not 
been  long  asleep  when  she  was  aroused  by  the 
sound  of  the  opening  of  the  outer  door.  She 
got  up  instantly.  She  said  she  could  not  under- 
stand what  prompted  her,  but  tiiat  as  she  passed 
the  table  she  caught  up  a  pistol  she  had  taken 
from  Rue's  pocket.  AYhen  she  pushed  back  the 
door  leading  to  Rue's  room  she  saw  Hartley 
standing  by  the  bed,  looking  at  the  sleeping  girl. 
She  says  the  look  in  his  face  made  her  kill  him." 

''Lucy  killed  him!" 


378  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

"  Yes,  she  shot  him — lulled  him  with  the  pis- 
tol Stanislaus  Leszinksky  gave  Margaret  before 
Rue  was  born.  Rue  always  carried  it.  It  was 
found  on  Bob  when  he  was  arrested  ;  it  was  a 
strong  point  in  the  evidence." 

**But  Bob — where  did  he  get  it?  O  Caris- 
brooke  !  what  a  murderous  look  must  have  been 
in  that  man' s  face  when  so  gentle  a  creature  as 
Lucy — I  cannot  yet  believe  Lucy  killed  him  !  " 

"She  says  when  he  fell— you  know  it  was 
proved  that  he  must  have  been  killed  instantly — 
she  threw  the  pistol  at  him  and  fled.  When 
she  turned  toward  the  wood  she  looked  back 
and  two  men  were  running  up  the  steps." 

"Bob  and  Oscar  ?'^ 

"  Yes,  Lucy  was  sure  it  was  Oscar." 

*'  But  Rue — where  is  Rue  ?" 

"  Where  Oscar  and  Bob  must  have  taken  her. 
Evidently  Bob  thought  that  Rue  killed  Hartley. 
This  confession  of  Lucy' s  will  save  Bob.  Horry 
and  Grandison  have  gone  to  telegraph  Carson, 
the  governor,  and  Bob's  counsel.  The  magis- 
trate' s  notes  will  be  sent  on  by  mail.  Bob  will 
be  saved.  But  I  must  start  in  the  morning,  Vir- 
ginia ;  Rue  may  be  ill.  I  am  troubled  about 
Rue." 


^' IPSO  jure:'  379 

"  May  I  go  with  you,  Carisbrooke  ?  " 
''I  wish  you  could.     But  Molly  ?    We  cannot 
both  leave  Molly  alone  with  all  the  care  Lucy's 
death  will  bring.     Besides,  there  is  Kate.'' 

''Kate will  insist  upon  going  with  you.  No- 
thing could  keep  her  from  Rue.  I  must  go  at 
once  and  tell  Kate." 

Mrs.  Carisbrooke  failed  to  find  Kate ;  but 
coming  from  her  room,  she  met  Molly  and  her 
father.  Molly's  tearful  face  said  that  Lucy  was 
dead  before  the  words  were  spoken.  Mrs.  Caris- 
brooke asked : 

"'  At  the  very  last  did  she  speak  of  Mai  V 
"  No,  mamma.  When  papa  let  me  go  to  her 
she  knew  me,  but  she  did  not  speak.  I  took  her 
hand  and  she  held  me  close— close  !  She  was  so 
still  I  thought  she  was  sleeping.  Suddenly  she 
threw  up  her  hands  and  called,  '  Oscar  ! '—only 
once,  and  it  was  over.  It  was  her  last  breath, 
her  last  cry."  Doctor  Carisbrooke  said  softly: 
"It  was  the  cry  of  conscience.  The  ties  of  the 
flesh  are  not  so  strong  as  the  law  of  the  spirit. 
Affection  may  die,  but  conscience  is  immortal." 

After  leaving  the  cottage  Kate  went  to  her 
room.     But  a  longing  she  could  not  resist  mas^ 


380  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

tered  her.  She  left  the  house,  and  once  again 
she  walked  through  the  shady  lane  into  the 
wood-path  under  the  trees  where  she  had  first 
walked  with  Leszinksky.  She  heard  these  words 
echo  out  of  the  past : 

^^  The  lane  is  cool  and  shady  ;  will  you  come  1 " 

There  was  a  ghostly  rhythm  of  steps  in  the 
leafy  path,  and  the  distant  sound  of  a  shot  hard- 
followed  by  the  cry  of  a  wounded  bird. 

"See  how  it  bleeds!  poor  little  thing.  Will 
it  die?" 

"It  is  dying  now." 

Question  and  answer  can>e  out  of  the  far-away 
years  !     There  were  other  words  : 

"But  now  you  are  sorry.  To-day,  when  you 
found  what  injustice  Lucy  had  suffered,  you  for- 
gave her  for  pity's  sake." 

Kate  leaned  on  the  gnarled  roots  of  the  tree 
where  the  robin  was  buried,  repeating  uncon- 
sciously the  words,  "for  pity's  sake." 

The  westering  sun  sent  waves  of  light  beneath 
the  branches.  Her  own  shadow  fell  across  the 
path  where  Leszinksky  had  stood.  The  shadow 
seemed  the  ghost  of  the  past.  To  that  past 
she  cried : 

"For  pity's  sake  Lucy  has  forgiven  me.     It 


''IPSO  JURE."  381 

was  I  wlio  was  in  the  wrong.  She  was  the  vic- 
tim of  caste,  of  sex,  of  the  world's  unjust  divi- 
sion of  responsibility.  Through  love  she  was 
obedient  to  evil.  Man  did  not  pity  her;  he 
dragged  her  into  a  sin  which  lias  limitless  conse- 
quences !  But  God  pitied  her.  He  gave  her  a 
child  and  touched  her  with  the  divine  spirit  of 
motherhood,  which  has  cleansed  her  of  sin; 
while  1—0  my  Father!  thou  hast  dealt  justly 
with  me.  Thou  hast  taken  into  thy  care  the 
childVhich  was  lying  on  my  heart  when  I  was 
hard  and  cruel  to  a  suffering  mother.  I  would 
not  forgive  her  when  pride,  not  love,  was  wound- 
ed ;  but  '  for  pity's  sake'  she  has  forgiven  me." 

In  the  cool,  dewy  twilight  a  sad  woman  walked 
alone  under  overarching  trees.  The  silence  was 
unbroken.  The  i-egular  rhythm  of  steps  that  fell 
together  was  lost  for  ever  from  the  leafy  lane. 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 

"  Ah,  God!  that  ghastly  gibbet: 
How  dismal  'tis  to  see 
The  great,  tall,  spectral  skeleton, 
The  ladder,  and  the  tree ' 

**  He  would  not  deign  them  word  nor  sign, 
But  alone  he  bent  the  kueo 
And  veiled  his  lace,  for  Christ's  dear  grace, 
Beneath  the  gallows-tree. 

"  There  was  another  heavy  sound, 
A  hush,  and  then  a  groan  ; 
And  darkness  swept  across  the  sky — 
The  work  of  death  was  done  !  " 

SENTENCED  by  a  hanging  judge!  Bob's 
friends  made  vain  appeal  to  a  hanging 
governor.  The  answer  was  ready  : 
"  The  majesty  of  the  law  must  be  respected." 
An  ofifering  of  blood  must  be  poured  u^^on  the 
altar  of  justice.  The  sculptor  "  builded  better 
than  he  knew"  when  he  bandaged  the  eyes  of 
the  statue  he  brought  out  of  stone. 

Night  and  day,  during  that  month  between  the 
day  of  sentence  and  the  day  appointed  for  its  ex- 
ecution, Carson  and  the  counsel  for  the  defence 


"IPSO  JURE."  383 

wearied  the  authorities  with  their  continual  com- 
ing. Three  of  the  jurymen  signed  the  petition 
for  the  commutation  of  sentence.  The  prosecut- 
ing attorney  promised  to  sign  it  if  they  could 
get  the  signature  of  the  judge.  The  judge  was 
deaf  to  the  plea  for  mercy  ! 

The  governor's  reason  for  refusal,  as  given  to 
Carson,  was  the  stale  but  plausible  answer  which 
lias  fed  the  gallows  for  centuries  :  "He  could  not 
conscientiously  interfere  with  the  course  of  jus- 
tice." The  unspoken  reason  was,  public  senti- 
ment called  for  the  execution  of  the  criminal, 
and  his  excellency  could  not  go  against  public 
sentiment,  for  the  fall  elections  were  near  at 
hand. 

As  Pilate  listened  to  the  cry,  ''Release  unto 
us  Barabbas,"  so  the  governor  pardoned  the 
corrupt  leader  of  a  corrupt  "ring"  which  had 
plundered  the  pul)lic  treasury  for  years,  while 
he  washed  his  hands  of  the  blood  of  the  soldier 
who  had  followed  his  country's  Hag  through  the 
fiery  storm  of  a  hundred  battles. 

Night  and  day  during  this  waiting  time  Pike 
was  Bob's  support  and  stay.  The  "crippled 
preacher  to  the  Indians"  had  won  the  hearts  of 
the  little  community  of  the  county  town.     He 


384  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

had  found  a  home  near  the  jail,  and  the  keep- 
er of  the  jail,  who  was  a  humane  and  kindly- 
man,  gave  him  free  access  to  his  old  comrade. 

When  the  jail  doors  opened  in  the  morning 
Pike  was  always  there  waiting  admittance.  The 
turnkey  and  the  prisoners  in  the  cells  could  hear 
the  simple,  cordial  salutation,  always  the  same, 
always  direct  from  the  heart. 

"  How-dy,  Bob?  Our  Father's  brung  us  safe 
to  the  light  of  another  mornin',  my  frien'.  He'll 
bring  us  safe  up  yonder  to  the  Great  Light  at 
las'.  Let's  beg  his  marcy  in  the  words  he's  Tarnt 
us." 

Then  the  jailer  at  the  door  and  the  listening 
prisoners  could  hear  that  sublimely  simi)le  pray- 
er Jesus  of  Nazareth  taught  his  disciples. 

From  the  first  day  of  Pike's  coming  until  the 
last,  when  the  voice  of  a  strong  man  in  agony  for 
his  friend  who  was  about  to  die  reached  them, 
not  a  sound  of  mockery,  not  a  ribald  word  ever 
disturbed  the  Christian  who  was  about  the  work 
his  Master  had  set  him  to  do.  Tlie  missionary  of 
the  woods  unconsciously  carried  the  message  of 
his  Father  and  theirs  to  the  criminals  in  the 
jail. 

During  tlie  hours  when  Bob  left  his  cell  for  a 


''IPSO  jure:'  385 

walk  in  the  jail-yard  Pike  was  with  him.  The 
crutches  wore  little  paths  across  the  stones. 

During  these  walks  Bob  resumed  his  old  habit 
of  monologue.  He  would  talk  of  everything  in 
the  past  except  of  what  had  occurred  in  those  two 
days  between  the  time  of  his  leaving  New  York 
and  the  time  of  his  arrest.  No  question  or  en- 
treaty of  Pike  or  of  General  Carson  brought  any 
answer  except  the  self-criminating  one  : 

^'How  or  whar  that  man  died  don't  make  no 
differ' nee.  Whosomedever  put  him  outen  this 
world  did  the  folks  lef  in  it  a  sarvice.  He  de- 
sarved  more'n  he  got.  If  I  could  b'lieve  in  hell 
I'd  tell  you  for  sho'  he's  a  citizen  of  that  climate. 
Anyhow,  he's  dead  and  I  ain't  sorry." 

Oscar's  absence  when  Carson  expected  him  to 
come  with  news  of  Lucy  sometimes  made  Carson 
think  that  Oscar  had  committed  the  murder,  and 
that  Bob  was  waiting  for  Oscar  to  have  a  safe 
start  in  the  race  with  Justice.  A  discreet  ques- 
tion, and  a  hint  that  he  ^'thought  Oscar  had  been 
gone  long  enough  to  get  to  the  Seminole  settle- 
ment in  Mexico,  where  he  was  sure  to  find  friends 
and  shelter,"  brought  an  unexpected  answer: 

*'I  can't  tell  you,  general,  that  I  didn't  kill 
Captain  Hartley,  and  I  won't,  but  I'm  free  to  say 


386  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

Oscar  had  no  hand  in  it.  He  didn't  even  see  it 
done.  If  Oscar  ever  gets  in  trouble  'bout  this 
I'll  thank  you  kindly,  sir,  if  you'll  say  my  las' 
words  cl'ared  him.  I  know  you'll  see  him  outen 
it.  fur  you're  a-tryiii'  your  best  to  help  me,  and 
I  can't  and  won't  say  I  didn't  do  it." 

Then  the  advocate,  sure  of  his  theory  of  Bob's 
sacrifice  of  himself,  came.  It  was  after  they  had 
failed  to  persuade  the  governor  to  commute  the 
sentence.  At  his  request  he  saw  Bob  alone.  He 
came  straight  to  the  point : 

''  You  did  not  kill  Captain  Hartley.  I  am  sure 
you  did  not  kill  him,  but  you  are  willing  to  die 
in  the  place  of  the  person  who  did." 

Unhappily,  the  last  sentence  confirmed  Bob  in 
his  belief  that  his  death  would  insure  Rue's 
safety  by  putting  her  out  of  the  law's  reach. 
Convinced  of  that,  he  did  not  listen  understand- 
ingly  to  the  words  which  followed. 

The  advocate  waited  for  an  answer,  but  Bob 
took  refuge  in  silence.  It  was  his  only  possible 
defence  against  the  trained  intelligence  which  he 
feared  would  force  him  into  betrayal  of  the  truth. 

*'If  you  would  trust  me  I  could  save  you. 
The  governor  asked  me  it'  I  would  pledge  my 
honor  that  from  what  you  have  told  me  as  your 


"  IPSO  JURE."  387 

counsel  I  was  sure  of  your  innocence.  I  could 
not,  for  you  have  told  me  nothing.  I  beg  of  you 
to  tell  me  now.  Your  secret  will  be  safe  with 
me,  but  then  I  can  give  the  governor  my  word 
and  he  will  grant  a  reprieve.  Time  is  what  we 
want,  for  time  unravels  all  mysteries." 

Again  the  last  sentence  was  fatal.  Bob's  most 
intense  wish  now  was  that  the  end  should  come. 
He  counted  the  few  days  left  and  was  sorry  there 
was  almost  a  w^eek  to  wait.  There  was  no  con- 
solation to  him  but  a  terrible  threat  in  the 
words,  ''Time  unravels  all  mysteries."  Why 
did  they  not  leave  him  in  peace  ?  was  his  thought ; 
why  were  General  Carson  and  Pike  helping  to 
snare  him  into  a  confession  that  would  put  the 
child  of  the  friends  they  had  all  loved  so  dearly 
in  his  place  ? 

The  advocate  left  the  condemned  man  to  his 
obstinate  silence.  But  the  experienced  lawyer 
was  but  the  more  firmly  convinced  that  Bob  was 
not  the  murderer. 

The  evening  before  the  day  appointed  for  the 
execution-Bob  and  Pike  were  left  alone  together. 
The  conversation  of  the  two  friends  was  unre- 
strained, and  Pike  made  a  la.st  appeal  for  his 
friend's  confidence. 


388  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

''Thar  ain't  no  use,  Pike,  of  askin'  me.  I 
can't  tell  and  I  won't.  You  know  thai' s  a  mighty- 
strong  reason  fur  what  Fma-doin'.  I  ain't  no- 
ways 'feard  o'  dyin'.  I  ain't  never  sliirked  no 
place  whar  I  was  a-riskin'  it.  But  I'm  free  to 
say  hangin'  goes  agin'  the  grain.  If  '  twas  a  rifle- 
ball  comin'  straiglit  through  my  heart  in  the 
mornin'  I'd  take  it  and  say,  Thankee.  I  could 
look  down  the  bar'l  and  see  the  way  a  soldier 
mought  die.  You  know  I  wouldn'  t  flinch.  And 
I  ain't  a-goin'  to  flinch  anyway  ;  but  it's  a  dog's 
death,  Pike— yes,  it's  a  dog's  death  !  Stranglin' 
a  man  and  a-hangin'  him  up  for  a  sign  of  what 
human  natur'  can  do  fur  a  brother  ! — a-showin' 
God-a-Mighty  that  a  jury-box  and  a  judge's 
bench  is  high  'nough  fur  men  to  staiid  on  and 
reach  up  and  take  His  pass-keys  fur  to  send  his 
critters  into  Kingdom-come  'thout  any  leave  o' 
his'n." 

"But  can't  you  furgiv'  'em,  Bob?  Jesus 
Christ  furgiv'  'em  when  he  was  a-hangin'  on  the 
tree  fur  no  sin,  but  o'ny  to  save  sinners." 

"  Well,  ain't  I  a-savin'— "  Bob  had  commenced 
with  an  impetuous  outburst,  then  he  suddenly 
stopped.  Pike  caught  his  friend  and  hugged 
him  close  to  his  heart. 


''IPSO  JURE."  389 

*^Bob,"  he  said  softly — '^Bob,  my  frien',  you 
didn't  kill  that  man,  Bob.  I  sees  the  truth  at 
las'!  I  has  been  sore  afeard  fur  you,  Bob.  I 
has  wrastled  with  God's  angel  fur  this,  like  Ja- 
cob of  old.  Night  and  day,  Bob,  night  and  day 
I  has  begged  the  blessin'  from  our  Father,  and 
now  I  got  it.  You  didn't  kill  him,  Bob  ! — no,  my 
frien',  you  didn't  kill  him  !  Bob,  Bob  !  our  Fa- 
ther in  heaven  '  is  a  very  present  help  in  time  o' 
trouble.' " 

Pike  dropped  his  head  on  Bob's  shoulder  and 
wept  like  a  child. 

The  jailer  came  to  tell  Pike  it  was  time  for 
him  to  go.  As  he  entered  he  heard  the  voice  of 
prayer.  Softly  closing  the  door,  he  w^ent  away. 
He  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  banish  the 
friend  and  minister  of  the  man  who  was  so  soon 
to  die. 

All  night  Pike  w^as  left  with  his  friend.  Part 
of  the  time  Bob  slept.  Pike  unwearily  kept  his 
vigil  of  praj^er  for  his  friend's  salvation.  The 
bitterness  of  his  own  grief  had  been  lost  in  the 
knowledge  of  Bob's  innocence  of  the  crime  for 
which  he  was  to  suffer.  There  was  something  of 
the  triumphant  and  thanksgiving  strain  of  the 
Psalmist  in  the  simple  words  with  which  Pike 


390  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

confessed  his  joy  at  this  linal  goodness  of  his 
Heavenly  Father.  He  could  now  see  his  friend 
die,  feeling  assured  that  the  Judge  Eternal  would 
consider  his  guiltless  suffering  and  receive  his 
soul  in  loving  kindness  and  mercy. 

At  daylight  Bob  awakened  to  see  Pike  quietly 
sitting  beside  him,  looking  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  solemn  joy  in  his  clear,  childlike  eyes 
of  lieavenly  blue. 

*'Pike,"  said  Bob,  taking  his  friend's  hand, 
^'thar's  somethin'  I  want  you  to  do — o'ny  you 
must  promise  me  you  won't  tell  it  to  nobody,  not 
the  general  or  nobody.  You'll  jus'  do  it,  first, 
bekase  I  asks  it  of  you  ;  and  then — well,  you'll 
know  arfter  you  promise." 

*'Yes,  Bob;  you  can  trus'  me.  Bob.  I'll  do 
what  you  wants,  my  frien' ,  jus'  as  you  tells  me 
to  do.  Bob." 

"  Pike,  you  know  that  depot  thar  by  the  rail- 
road at thar  ? " 

''Yes,  Bob  ;  the  general  and  me  come  by  thar 
when  he  brought  me  here." 

"  Did  you  look  at  the  hills  'bout  thar,  Pike  ? " 

"  No,  Bob,  I  can't  say  I  did." 

"Well,  anyway,  you'll  find  the  place.  You 
ain't  cl'ar  furgot  our  trail-marks '{  " 


''IPSO  jure:'  391 

''No,  Bob.  Tell  me  what  natur'  looks  like  in 
rocks,  and  hills,  and  trees,  and  I'll  find  any- 
place you  wants  me  to  go." 

"  Well,  go  over  to  the  railroad  thar  by  your- 
self. Pike.  Don't  tell  anybody  ;  don't  take  no- 
body." 

"^o,  Bob;  I  won't." 

'*  Stan'  over  on  the  side  of  the  depot  away  from 
the  river,  with  your  back  agin  the  door  thar,  and 
over  a  little  to  your  right  above  the  ridge  you'll 
see  a  high  hill  which  looks  like  that  bald  knob 
with  the  Osage  beacon  on  it  over  on  the  Kia- 
meshia." 

''Yes,  Bob.  I  'member  that  knob  ;  I'll  know 
one  like  it." 

"  Git  your  barrin's  fixed  and  then  go  'round  the 
ridge  to  the  left.  You'll  have  a  long  walk.  Pike, 
but  I  know  you'll  try  it.  It's  hard  to  ask  o'  you, 
Pike,  to  go  thar  on  crutches,  but  I  must ;  thar 
ain't  nobody  but  you  I  dar'  trus'." 

"I'll  do  it,  Bob.  Don't  be  oneasy,  my  frien'. 
ril  go  an'  I'll  find  it." 

"  Arfter  you  go  'round  that  road  and  cross  the 
ridge  you  mustn'  t  go  down  offen  the  ridge,  but 
turn  up  a  sort  o'  cow-puth  to  the  right  along  the 
ridge  till  you  see  the  p'int  o'  the  knob.     By  that 


392  THE  MODERN  HAGAR. 

time  you'll  see  a  big  rock  up  thar,  and  three 
little  hemlocks  agin  it." 

*'  Yes,  Bob  ;  up  the  ridge  to  the  right  till  I  see 
the  rock  and  the  three  hemlocks  on  the  knob." 

"Then,  Pike,  you  must  stop." 

"Stop,  Bob?" 

"  Yes  ;  stop  and  take  off  your  hat,  and  wave  it 
'roun'  your  head  so."  Bob  raised  up  and  made 
the  salute. 

"  Yes,  Bob  ;  it's  a  sign,  may  be  ? " 

"  It's  a  sign.  Walk  on  till  you  come  to  a  big 
flat  rock  in  a  straight  line  with  the  knob—thar's 
laurel  bushes  all  'roun'  it — then  wave  your  hat 
agin'." 

"Yes,  Bob." 

"  Then  most-like  somebody  will  wave  from  the 
rock  on.  the  knob  ;  if  they  do  you  wait  till  they 
come  down  whar  you  are." 

"And  if  they  don't,  BobT' 

"Then  you  mus'  wait  thar,  'cause  you  can't 
climb  that  hill  ;  and  every  hour  while  daylight 
lasts  wave  agin.  If  by  that  time  you  ain't  seen 
nobody  you  must  go  agin  four  weeks  from  to-day. 
It's  kind  o'  quar,  but  it  war  fixed  in  the  start  fur 
a  Friday." 

"  Mus'  I  go  to-day,  Bob  I  " 


*' IPSO  jure:'  393 

"Yes,  to-day.  I  know  you  won't  leave  me 
till — till  it's  done  ;  but  then,  Pike,  arfter  I'm 
gone  you  ain't  got  no  time  to  waste  bein'  sorry." 

''No,  Bob;  I'll  leave  that  up  tkar  with  our 
Father  and  go.     You  can  trus' me." 

''Then,  Pike,  you  mus'  tell  what's  become  o' 
me." 

"  To  the  man  I  find  thar  ? " 

"  Yes,  to  him  ;  and  tell  him  I  said  he  can  tell 
you  who's  up  in  the  hills." 

"  AYill  he  know  me.  Bob,  and  believe  you  sent 
me  when  I  ask,  '  Who's  up  in  the  hills  '  ?  " 

"Yes,  he'll  know.  Then,  if  all's  safe  in  the 
hills,  you  get  General  Carson  and  go  with  the 
man." 

"  Mus'  I  ask  General  Carson  to  wait  here,  Bob, 
till  I  sees  the  man  ?" 

"Yes;  when  I'm — when  I'm  gone  you  may 
tell  him  to  wait.  Ar'  you  sho'  you'U  know, 
Pike,  jus'  whar  to  go  ? "  Pike  rejDeated  the  di- 
rections. After  that  he  prayed  ;  then  the  jailer 
came. 

At  the  moment  Bob  was  giving  Pike  these  di- 
rections Oscar  was  waiting  on  the  lull.  He  had 
been  there  twice  before— on  days  appointed  by 
Bob  if  anything  should  keep  him  from  coming  to 


394  THE  MODERN  BAGAR. 

the  place  of  refuge  to  which  Oscar  liad  taken 
Kue. 

From  the  dawning  of  day  Oscar  had  vigilantly 
watched  valley  and  ridge.  About  seven  o'clock 
he  saw  a  light  buggy  rapidly  driven  to  the  sta- 
tion. There  was  an  instant  stir  and  movement 
about  the  station.  A  man  ran  across  a  field  and 
returned  hurriedly  with  another.  Then  a  gentle- 
man got  out  of  the  buggy  and  they  all  went  into 
the  station. 

**  That  looked  mighty  like  Marse  Carson." 

Oscar  willed  the  glasses  and  watched  closely. 
He  had  seen  the  people  about  the  station  so  often 
he  knew  who  belonged  there.  The  train  was 
coming  from  New  York  and  General  Carson 
came  out  of  the  door.  Oscar  could  now  see  dis- 
tinctly that  it  was  General  Carson.  No  one  got 
off  the  train.  Oscar  saw  that,  for  Oscar  was 
holding  General  Carson  was  waiting  for  Bob. 
The  train  moved  on  and  Carson  walked  uj)  and 
down  before  the  door.  Oscar  knew  him  so  well 
he  could  tell  how  impatient  and  nervous  the 
walker  was.  He  would  look  at  the  sun  and  his 
watch,  stopping  occasionally  at  the  door  as  if  to 
question  some  one. 

"  I  v/onder,"  thought  Oscar,  "  if  he's  a-w^aitin' 


''IPSO  JURE r  395 

fur  Marse  Bob  ?  I'm  mighty  troubled  bout 
Marse  Bob.  He  told  me  not  to  go  'way  from 
here,  not  to  go  lookin'  fur  him,  if  he  didn't 
come  ;  but  it's  quar  Marse  Carson's  thar  waitin', 
too.     I  mus'  see  Marse  Carson." 

As  if  to  make  his  decision  irrevocable  Oscar 
walked  rapidly  down  the  hill.  Then  he  ran 
down  the  slope  of  the  ridge  and  around  to  the 
station.  He  touched  Carson  before  Carson  knew 
him. 

"Why,  Oscar!" 

Amazement  and  fear  of  some  new  trouble  held 
Carson  as  he  looked  at  the  thin,  gaunt,  raggedly - 
clad  figure  and  the  careworn,  anxious  face  of  the 
negro. 

"  Mornin',  Marse  Carson;  howdy,  sir?  Fs 
been  mighty  troubled  and  oneasy  'bout  Marse 
Bob,  sir.  I  was  up  thar  on  the  hill  thar"  — 
pointing — "  whar  he  told  me  to  wait  to-day  fur 
him.  I've  been  thar  twice  befo',  like  he  said, 
but  he  didn't  come  ;  and  this  mornin',  when  I 
seed  you  here,  sir,  I  had  to  come  to  ask  you,  sir, 
if  you  know  whar  he  is." 

Carson  was  puzzled.  News  had  come  that 
morning  which  made  him  hopeful  of  Bob's  im- 
mediate reprieve  ;    but  to  hear  who  had  killed 


396  THE  MODERN  HAUAR. 

Hartley  would  be  a  startling  blow  to  Oscar.  Dr. 
Carisbrooke  had  telegraphed.  That  morning  he 
had  received  a  despatch  sent  the  night  before. 
Carson  knew  the  lawyer  who  had  defended  Bob 
had  been  telegraphed  and  was  now  in  communi- 
cation with  the  governor,  who  had  also  been  tele- 
grajilied  from  Cincinnati  that  the  person  who 
committed  the  murder  was  there,  and  had  in 
confessing  the  crime  completely  exonerated  Bob. 

Oscar's  sudden  appearance  and  his  ignorance 
of  Bob's  danger  upset  the  theory  Carson  had 
built  upon  the  telegrams  he  had  received.  In 
the  fewest  words  he  told  Oscar  of  Bob's  trial, 
conviction,  and  danger  of  execution  if  a  reprieve 
was  not  telegraphed  in  time  to  take  it  to  the 
county  town  before  noon. 

The  sentence  must  be  executed  at  twelve 
o'clock.  That  was  the  last  minute  the  sheriff 
could  wait ;  he  had  promised  to  wait  until  then. 
At  first  Oscar  could  not  understand — could  not 
realize  Bob's  danger.  Carson  plainly  restated 
the  brutal  truth.  Oscar  fell  at  his  feet  and 
caught  Carson's  knees,  crying  between  choking 
sobs  : 

"  He  didn't  do  it,  Marse  Carson.  He  didn't  do 
it!     I  know  he  didn't.     0  Lord   o'   vengeance! 


'^IPSOJUREr  39? 

you  know  he  didn' t  do  it.  /wanted  to  do  it.  but 
Marse  Bob  wouldn't  let  me.  I  can't  tell  you  all, 
Marse  Carson  ;  I  can't  tell  you,  but  'fore  God  lie 
didn't  do  it,  sir — 'fore  God  lie  didn't ! " 

"Yes,  I  know  lie  did  not."  Then  Carson 
stopped  ;  he  could  not  give  the  suffering,  loving 
nature  another  and  probably  a  harder  blow.  Os- 
car was  so  crushed  by  grief  that  he  asked  no 
questions.  He  had  got  one  thought  fixed  in 
heart  and  brain.  He  knew  if  a  reprieve  did  not 
come  in  time  Bob  must  die.  The  negro  crouched 
upon  the  ground,  his  hands  clenched  behind  his 
head  ;  he  was  looking  up  with  staring,  bloodshot 
eyes  at  the  sun  and  the  wires  of  the  telegraph 
line,  as  if  they  must  speak.  But  the  sun  rolled 
on  his  way  and  there  was  no  message. 

Ten  o'clock  !  Eleven  o'clock  !  The  lazy  cattle 
were  lying  under  the  shade  in  the  meadow.  A 
solitary  bird  was  singing  in  the  wood  close  by. 
There  was  a  busy  insect  hum  under  eveiy  blade 
of  grass  where  Oscar  was  lying.  The  bird' s  carol 
and  the  steady  humming  seemed  to  beat  in  his 
brain. 

The  index  pointed  at  the  half  hour.  Click  ! 
click !  a  little  metallic  cry  inside  the  window, 
and  Carson  uttered  a  hurried  exclamation. 


398  THE  MODERN  JJACiAB. 

Oscar  was  on  his  feet,  but  he  tremblingly  stag- 
gered to  the  door. 

^'  Is  it  come,  Marse  Carson  ?  is  it  come  ?  " 

''  The  reprieve  ?    Yes,  Oscar,  yes  !  " 

Oh !  Avhat  a  joyful  cry  to  Oscar  was  that 
^'yes." 

*'  Come,  Oscar  ;  you  shall  drive  me  back.  We 
have  the  fastest  horse  in  the  county.  You  shall 
save  Bob,  Oscar.     Come  !" 

The  negro  no  longer  trembled  ;  the  relaxed 
nerves  and  muscles  were  restrung.  Only  the 
pulses  were  throbbing  with  the  new  strength 
that  appeal  had  called  into  life. 

They  had  started. 

'^  How  fur  is  it,  Marse  Carson  ? " 

The  distance  was  told.  The  negi'o  knew  it 
was  a  bare  possibility  to  win  in  the  race, 
but  his  strength,  experience,  and  training  all 
aided. 

Nowhere  could  Carson  have  found  a  better 
driver.  Carefully,  steadily,  without  fretting  or 
worrying  him,  the  horse  was  kept  at  his  best. 
Not  the  smallest  obstruction  missed  the  driver's 
eye  ;  never  did  the  firm  hand  fail.  There  were 
no  words  except  an  occasional  telling  from  Car 
son  of  time  and  the  distance  3^et  to  make.     The 


'*  IPSO  jure:'  399 

white  spire  of  the  village  church  gleamed  in  the 
sunshine. 

There  was  a  rough  little  bridge  over  a  gully. 
Oscar's  hand  was  like  iron-  in  its  steady  hold; 
but  the  horse  stumbled,  and  then,  recovering, 
went  on.  Slower — still  slower.  Whip  and  voice 
urged  him  into  broken  spurts. 

Carson  looked  at  Oscar.  The  negro's  face  was 
ashen  with  its  wild  look  of  fright. 

'^  What  is  it,  Oscar?" 

^'He  can't  do  it,  Marse  Carson,  but  I  mus'. 
You  know  how  I  used  to  run.  I'll  do  it  now, 
sir.  Drive  him  a  minute  at  his  best,  sir,  while  I 
gits  ready." 

The  jacket,  shoes,  and  heavy  flannel  shirt  were 
thrown  away.  With  his  knife  he  cut  his 
breeches  short  to  the  knees.  His  suspenders 
were  slipped  from  his  shoulders  and  strapped 
about  his  waist. 

''Now  I'm  ready,  Marse  Carson.  Giv'  me  the 
paper,  sir,  then  stop  him  a  minute.  Whar  mus' 
Igo  withit?" 

"  Straight  to  the  jail,  over  to  the  right  of  the 
church-spire  you  see.  Keep  straight  ahead  till 
you  pass  the  church,  then  the  first  turn  to  the 
right.     You  will  see  a  crowd,  I  think.     They  wiU 


400  THE  MODERN  UAGAR. 

all  tell  you  where  to  go.  Cry  out,  '  A  pardon  ! ' 
Yes,  say  it  is  a  pardon.  Run,  Oscar,  run  ;  it's 
Bob's  last  chance  !  " 

Carson  reined  uj)  a  mordent  and  Oscar  was  in 
the  road.  Then  he  stood  up  and  shouted  a  cheer 
to  the  runner.  Before  he  again  whipped  the 
lame  horse  into  a  broken  gallop  Oscar  had  turned 
a  curve  and  was  out  of  sight. 

With  his  head  erect  and  his  arms  close  up  the 
negro  sprang  forward  in  his  race  with  death. 
As  he  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  village  the 
court-house  clock  sounded  its  slow  pulsation  of 
time.  Each  stroke  was  a  lash  to  the  runner. 
People  saw  him  coming  and  shouted.  They 
knew  no  man  could  run  like  that  unless  it  was 
to  save  life.  They  moved  out  of  the  way  to  let 
him  pass,  and  then  followed  fast  in  his  steps. 
The  crowd  at  the  jail  saw  him  and  a  cry  went 
up: 

"  Cut  him  down !  A  reprieve  I  Cut  him 
down! " 

Oscar  was  deaf  to  all  sound,  except  the  tumult 
which  was  beating  in  his  brain  and  the  whirling 
of  mighty  winds  which  seemed  to  ring  in  his 
ears.  He  knew  he  had  been  told  to  cry  aloud. 
But  with  the  first  effort  at  speech  there  was  only 


''IPSO  jure:'  401 

a  hoarse  moan,  and  then  a  shriller  cry — such  a 
cry  as  the  mountain  pine  sends  to  its  fellows 
when  the  storm  is  pulling  its  roots  from  their 
place  of  vantage.  At  last  his  voice  came  and 
framed  words : 

''A  pardon!  a  pardon!  Yous  free,  Marse 
Bob!  you's  free !" 

Eight  and  left  they  parted  to  let  him  through. 
He  saw  the  scaffold  and  men  cro wading  about  it. 

Only  a  piece  of  rope  was  hanging  from  the 
ghastly  gibbet. 

^'A  pardon!  You's  free,  Marse  Bob!  Os- 
car's here,  Marse  Bob  !  You's  free — free  !  0 
Lord  o'  Tengeance!    What  ! " 

He  stumbled  blindly  forw^ard ;  the  blood 
gushed  in  a  bright  red  torrent  from  his  mouth. 
As  some  one  took  the  paper  from  the  out- 
stretched hand  he  fell  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows 
— across  the  lifeless  body  of  the  man  they  had 
cut  down  as  the  people  shouted,  ''  A  reprieve  !  " 

Two  of  the  faithfullest  hearts  that  have  beat  in 
the  century  were  still.  The  awe-struck  crowd 
parted  to  let  the  crippled  preacher  reach  the 
dead.  Pike  knelt  beside  the  man  law  had  mur- 
dered and  the  man  God  had  in  very  truth  "set 
free."     The  scarred  face  of  the  cripple  was  lifted 


402  THE  MODERN  HAOAR. 

heavenward,  but  the  pale,  quivering  lips  were 
dumb.  The  heart  of  the  child-like  Christian  was 
crushed  by  the  crime  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
The  burning  sun  seemed  an  angry  flame  which 
threatened  the  earth.  The  shadow  of  the  gibbet 
hid  from  him  the  face  of  the  Father. 

A  caged  bird  in  the  jail -window  began  singing 
in  low,  broken  runs,  and  then  thrilled  the  hot, 
slumbrous  air  with  a  burst  of  melody.  The 
crowd  stirred  uneasily  ;  the  dumb  lips  were  un- 
closed :  "Father,  forgive  them;  they  know  not 
what  they  do." 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
220 


